Saturday, July 31, 2010
The One That Got Away
There have been two men in my life that I have loved. I don't often talk of the one, mainly because he is married and out of respect for him, his wife, and their relationship. But this is *my* blog, about *my* life. He is half a world and half a lifetime away, and he is right here in my mind.
I'm not sure how he became so important to me. I mean, sure there was a connection - you know the kind. You look at each other and know there is something. It's like the air sizzles. People around you notice, say something, you make Freudian slips around each other, but you deny - to each other, to yourself, and to the world. It was like that between him and me. We are friends. That is all. But in our hearts, we know, we live knowing "if..."
We still communicate on occasion, he and I. As always, there's a part of me that thinks that clandestine word "affair". Oh, his wife knows that we communicate. There is no drama llama nonsense, there is no hiding. But still the word flits through my mind like a word on the tip of your tongue - it's there but you can't quite reach it.
He pulls at my heart. I see him, and I read his posts and chat with him every now and then. Mostly, though, I remember. I remember how I felt beautiful and strong and desirable when I was with him. I remember how much he laughed with me, the night he gave me a gift, the joy I felt being in a room with him and dozens of other people, always knowing exactly where he was that night.
Sometimes now, though, i wonder if it is him I am remembering or the feelings he elicited in me. The passion, the desire. I miss feeling beautiful. I miss feeling strong. I miss knowing that there is someone out there who really does have regrets about me.
He is back home, living a wonderful life with his wife. I don't begrudge him that, and he is happy. He's a dad, he has his hobbies and his work. I wish him well. I live my life, writing, working, having my hobbies and such. He wishes me well.
But every now and then, I indulge in a bit of "what if" daydreaming. I wonder about if I'd met him before his wife did. I wonder about if I'd stayed in the USA. I wonder about if we'd felt the spark when it wouldn't have been forbidden fruit. I like to think that every now and then he has a "what if" moment about me, too. I hope, a vain part of me hopes, that I am at times his Eve dangling an apple before the mists of his memory.