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November 11, 2014

She lay next to him and looked into his eyes. She touched his face and ran her hand through his hair. She touched his chest and looked down at six feet of him laying on her bed. He was gorgeous. She wanted to feel something. She waited for the spark to fly from his brown eyes to hers. She wanted her body to feel pulled to his. She looked at him hoping to feel that connection… the one she had felt before…..with him.

She flashed back to her first night with him.

She was like Lucy in A Room With a View. Cecil had tried to kiss Lucy by the sacred lake. He had fumbled with his glasses and her veil, barely touching her lips before giving up. Lucy flashed back to Italy, standing in the field of barley and poppies when George, seeing her, had walked briskly through the stalks, taken her in his arms and kissed her fully and firmly. She had returned the kiss after a moment of surprise, placing her hand on his shoulder before being called away by her chaperone.

She could hear the same operetta from the movie in her head as she remembered how they had been together, that first time. It was like they were crafted just for each other, physically, chemically…..spiritually. It had been like making love to a long, lost lover. Like finding someone who had always been there. It was natural and exhilarating. She had been in a daze, dizzy with the flood of chemicals in her brain when she had walked up to her friend later that night. Her body had found it’s match.

She was there in her head as she looked at the man lying next to her. He was so beautiful. Sweet and kind and seemingly crazy about her. But all she felt was static. What was she going to do now? Maybe it would get better? They just needed practice, right? To learn each other.

In her heart she knew the truth. She knew she had been right. The time she had looked at him, splayed out before her, a bit of sweat on his forehead, his hair damp. She had turned over and said, “You know, it’s not going to be like this with anyone else. We’re never going to find someone that we connect with like this again.”

She had tried again. She had let someone else in. She wanted to get over him.

But all she was left with was the feeling that she had been right.

She thought of all the times she had told him no. The times she had tried to be strong, tried to stay away from him. They weren’t right for each other. It was responsible and mature to let him go. To stay broken up even as he persisted. Now, she would climb a mountain to be with him, just one more time. She would give anything to see him waiting for her at the park or outside her door, a pizza in his hand. And it would be as it had been before. Clothes strewn by the front door as they would return to their natural rhythm.

She wondered if it were just a myth she had created. Maybe they had not been real. They were a dream, contained in the four walls of that little bedroom. Was she holding on to an ideal, too romantic, too perfect in it’s impermanence? Would anyone else ever be able to live up to story she had written?

When he was gone, she fell back onto her bed, trying to console herself with wine and comedy. She was overwhelmed with longing where she had hoped for satisfaction. She had known that weird kind of love. She had felt that lightness of being. For a little while he had been for her.

It would have to be enough.


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