Story of my love

Because I haven’t told it before.

I miss the times when we were together, when we were really being together, but I suspect, in our ten years, those times cumulatively make up three or four. The rest was breaking up, or being together but not being able to get together, or making and cancelling plans, or catching sneaky kisses in elevators.

I loved those elevator kisses.

I hear his voice in my head, even three years since I last heard it. He had a deep rolling voice that hit me like a shot of whiskey; burned the core and then moved through me, warming the fingers and toes.

I miss listening to the things he said, his infinite opinions about the world and the theater and politics and cooking and actors and things that mattered and things that didn’t matter. He taught me a trick for opening a jar and every time I open a jar I hear him.

I miss the presence. He had an aura, a weight, a just being there, sitting on the couch or in the next room or in this room, not talking. Like he generated more heat than other people. No one else ever feels that way to me. I miss that weight.

I miss the idea of the relationship. When I think about other relationships, the idea of it, the abstract, was something important or meaningful or anxiety-producing or delightful. But this one relationship, when I had it, in those moments, was peaceful. I could tell myself that I had Bob, and that was a soothing thing to hear. Even when we were apart for weeks because of scheduling, the in-between times were filled with that peace.

Which he stole from me every chance he got. Maybe it’s a mistake to love an abstract, and I think he wanted both less and more. He wanted me to have more, and he wanted to give me less and so he withdrew it all. What a martyr he imagined himself to be! Abandoning me because I deserved better. Bearing the burden, he could tell himself, of being the bad guy, to spare me. I cannot roll my eyes enough to express the bullshit. Because there was something so crazy there, so pathological, that I cannot even type up a plausible explanation for blogging purposes. He just walked. Just like that.

I miss the gin rummy.

The sex was amazing, fantastic, and my desire for him was constant and infinite, but I don’t miss the sex. If he was here now, I think I’d make him a cup of coffee, and sit across from him and look at him while he drank it, and then sit in his lap. I think about that more than I think about jumping his bones, although undoubtedly I’d jump his bones.

I don’t regret a minute.

6 comments

  1. Roberta says:

    thanks for telling it.

    I want it all… the coffee (he french presses it for me every morning), the not talking (okay well I GET that, but you know what I mean) the little cuddles.

    But it all leads to me wanting the jumping. even post leads to wanting pre.

    I hope I get some of what you got… and not a whole lot of other of what you got.

  2. anne johnson says:

    Isn’t it funny how they bolt sometimes for no apparent reason? I’m glad you can focus on the positive and not be bitter about it.

  3. deblipp says:

    Roberta, beleve me I want the jumping. But it doesn’t haunt me.

    Anne…haunted more than bitter, but sometimes fine, and sometimes furious. I will never know why he bolted, but I knew from fairly early on that it was difficult for him not to bolt.

  4. UNCLEagent says:

    Beautiful retelling.

    It brightened me to see to refelcting on the joys and the hope.

    I’m in a comparable situation, but I didn’t even get a (obligatory?) good-bye nod-off; just the bolt. I’m consumed with hurt, bitterness, anger, sadness, hate, and just about every negative emotion one can conjure up.

    It meant a lot to me to see you so open – and so ‘positive’ for lack of better word. It’s nice to see a healthy refelction on the magic moments and not feel like they have to be buried for the sake of self-preservation.

    I admire your strength.

  5. deblipp says:

    Uncle, it is surprising and interesting to me how people are reacting to this post. I didn’t get a goodbye the last time (we’d broken up several times in ten years, the last time we were together for about a year). He just froze me out. Since he has a heart condition, I called once to make sure I was being frozen out and it wasn’t medical, and then I was done. I cried like a baby and I was furious and agonized, all that.

    I’m sorry you’re going through it now.

    But that was 2 years ago…almost 3. And what stays with me is how very sad it is that he was such a pathological schmuck to throw me away. And how wonderful it was in the times when he wasn’t a schmuck.

  6. Angela says:

    I miss elevator kisses too. Thanks for sharing your story.