How does this happen? How does someone who is cynical and jaded about love and happily-forever-after fall head over heels in love with someone? And someone I’ve known for about fifteen years now. No, I really want to know – how does this happen?
What, you ask? What’s going on? I’m in love. Sugary sweet absolutely disgustingly gaga in love. Before you wonder if this is lust, let me assure you that lust is definitely in the picture. We can’t keep our hands off each other. And the sex? Even if it were bad, it would be fantastic. It’s not.
Gods above and below, help me. I feel like a teenager and trust me, I’m not sure I ever was a teenager even when the chronological age said I was. Oh, and this feeling like a teenager? That sucks. I can’t think, I can sometimes eat, sometimes sleep, and sometimes function in the rest of my life.
Did I mention that the rest of my life is pretty busy already? That I had other love relationships going on? A side job. Heck, my full-time job? Friends, family, as well as loves? Cats who’d like to see me more than once in a while? Do I have time for this nonsense? No, I most emphatically do not. And yet, here I am. I honestly felt that, despite the hope I might entertain in the middle of the night, there was never going to be someone who would fully and truly love me. No one who would get me and love all the weird things that go into making me, well, me. Hey, I made a wish for someone a long time ago and heard nothing. I took that to mean that my hearth-fire was burned out and the best I could hope for in life was to be able to find love on a part-time basis and to warm myself at others’ hearth-fires.
I’m not alone in how I feel. The emails we trade on the days we don’t see each other almost always seem to include a statement of frustration: that somehow, some way, we managed to wiggle into each other hearts, souls, psyches and find a home. We have fences, border guards, chasms surrounding our hearts. And all that makes no difference because he is in my heart and I am in his. On the days that we do see each other, we continually mention how shocking it is to feel as we do.
I love that he is a Renaissance man with an eclectic collection of skills. He seems to love that I have a mind and am not afraid to use it. We marvel at the love we feel. And, to be quite honest, the lust we feel as well. Hey, we’re not youngsters and we each have our own chronic conditions. Lust and passion are value-added features. When we write each other, we say something that resonates with the other; like we’ve tuned in to each other and are meeting the specifications we each put out as desirable qualities in the secret reaches of our minds. Of all the people in my life, he is the first one to truly understand what it means to have the illnesses I have and what that means in the end. I didn’t tell him, he told me. Followed by an “I love you.” I know fully the ramifications of his health conditions. I love him as well.
I will write more sometime on the history of us. In the meantime, we each wonder how in the hell this happened – that two people who seemed to have their lives arranged just so managed to connect and fall in love, seemingly overnight. We each wonder what happened and are asking our friends to tell us we’re nuts and have no business feeling as we do. We search for sanity, for someone to tell us we’re messing up terribly and we should just go our separate ways. We worry we’ll hurt the other; that the other can’t take the pain, if that which is “us” can take it. What the hell are we doing?