He kissed me again. The kind of kiss I had needed for weeks, without even realizing it. But a few moments later as he kissed me harder, there were tears running down my face. With each press of his lips on mine he was filling another inch of empty space that had been dug within me.
So many times I had silently hoped his face had turned and he’d pick me. He’d reach for me without hesitation and he’d admit, that everything he’d done and worked towards had solely been towards me.
Wouldn’t it be great, idyllic actually, if after all these years, I was what he needed.
The thoughts kept swarming forward and cramming onto each other. And he kept kissing me. His fingers pulled tighter to my hair and his hands rounded deeper over my skin. He was a drug I couldn’t say no to.
Keep going, was all I could think of, but didn’t say, give me more.
My mouth reached but my eyes kept pleading with tears.
Just say it. Please. Now is the time to say it. Those three words.
Wouldn’t it be nice if this was close to true?
The truth is my best friend came out with me tonight and witnessed the full interaction. After three years of me trying to explain it. She met him and saw the scene.
She asked: Is your Sir flirting in front of you?
I explained: he wasn’t mine.
She said: He seems to have these very unattractive women around him at all times. It’s kinda gross.
Me: I know. I consider them his fans. Lower, unattractive, stupid beings. I’m above them all, I explained.
Her: And yet he dotes on you...offering drinks and giving you compliments.
I had another sip of my beer, it is what it is. I said. I know what to expect. His behavior isn’t shocking. I know how to protect myself. He’s not going to change. This is it. Men don't change.
Her: So why do you bother coming out to his events?
Me: Because I’d rather take this then nothing. I’ll hang on to is friendship, his connection and contact, rather then nothing.
I'll explain it again, my mother saw one picture out of twenty five years of marraige to describe as being 'happy'.
If you thought you were close, at twenty-six, gravitating towards contentment- whether it was with an ex, karaoke, casual sex, a job, an old friend, fried food, bad TV, a good book,...wouldn't you just go to it without question? Wouldn't you just say yes and let the questions come later?
After all, we're only here this one quick time.
Why not just roll with it all.