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It's been a long year. Long, but insanely short. A year ago, I was planning for a visit to the place where I live now. I was preparing for a move. I was looking forward to what I'm living.
It feels good. Sometimes, if I look too closely at it, it feels strange. I'm married now. Joyfully, peacefully, blissfully married. To the man of my dreams, no less. The last year hasn't been utterly smooth sailing, but no relationship is. We've had our moments of insecurity and miscommunication and hurt feelings. But we always come back to this place. We always come back home to each other.
The desperate, lonely ache of a year ago is so remote now. I dreamwalked my way through the day, thinking only of him and when I could be with him again. I pined for him and it hurt so deep to know the uncertainty. There was always a fear in me that whispered that this wouldn't work. We were so far away, so different. Being together would mean an astronomical change for one of us...and, by extension, both of us. The change would be hard to cope with.
But, surprisingly, it hasn't been. It's been... natural. Hand-in-glove. Hell, my hand fits his better than my hand has ever fit in a glove. We spend our nights together, our evenings. We guard our time together jealously and tend to circle the wagons to keep others out of our sanctuary. We're not terribly social people and because of his long days, we tend to savor the time we have together and alone. We enjoy the peace of evenings watching TV or reading or wandering Gaia in the darkness of a burnt-out bulb.
And at night, when he curls against my back or I against his and our bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle, I know I'm home. Home in his arms, in his life, at his side. Sometimes, I still hurt him when I say "home" about someplace that isn't. It's still a tricky concept with me. But I know where Home is.
My earliest memories of wanting someone usually came at night, when I was curled alone in bed. I wanted someone to hold me, to care about me. I wanted someone I could care about and hold in return. In high school's darkest moments, when I was certain I wouldn't wake up in the morning again, there was a hand that guilded me out of it. Arms that curled around me and held me close, even if it was only my imagination. What I wanted... my ideal. A warm breath against my neck, a gentle voice in my ear, arms around my waist and legs tucked behind mine. I've known others who've attempted to hold me that way, who've mimicked the pose, hinted at what I'd daydreamed of. But none of them were right. None of them truly made me feel secure and safe and loved. Tolerated, maybe. Wanted, maybe. Possessed, maybe. But not loved.
Now, I'm loved. Now, the daydream is real...down to strange details. A friend from when I was in high school often drew the man I described in my dreams. There was a celebrity foundation at the time, but the drawings more and more deviated from the original...until they looked little like him. And more and more like the man I finally married.
Life is funny. And there are a lot of things nobody can ever explain or quantify, forces in nature and beyond that baffle human understanding. My beliefs are based on what I see, what I experience, what I sense. And this was Heaven-sent.
 KijiLinn · Wed Sep 20, 2006 @ 03:58pm · 1 Comments |
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