I think of him sometimes. The him he used to be. My friend, my confidante, my sexy soldier. My first love.
We were fire and ice. Fight or fuck. Compromise meant the match burned down to the base and the ice melted just enough for tepid liquid complacency to soothe the singed fingers holding it.
I was whiskey on his wounds. He got drunk on the possibility of Me.
We were not meant to be.
We had our moments though. Bright shining starry moments when we stopped fighting ourselves long enough to stop fighting each other. Moments when galaxies spun inside our eyes and we sent the world up in flames. Moments of clarity. Of joy. Of truth. Of pain.
Of “I love you.”
He was the first.
I don’t say those words to many. It’s an invitation to heartbreak. He taught me that.
He taught me a lot of things.
How to put more spin on my serve. How to lay parquet flooring. How to have an orgasm in complete silence. How to relax enough to let him hold me. God, he was good at that.
I used to climb up on him to sleep. He was… big… and I never had to worry whether I’d steal his air of if he could take my weight. I just climbed on whenever I needed to.
He loved it when I did that. He wanted it, and he proved it, over and over and over again; it is a gift I’ve never received from another. He’d lay on his back and I’d drape myself over him like a blanket, my head against his chest, warm in his embrace. I’d wrap my arms up under his shoulders and frog my knees up against his hips and he’d hold me there ~ petting and soothing and shushing, stroking his big hands over my head, down my back, gently and surely, again and again ~ until I finally unwound enough to fall asleep.
I sleep alone these days. And when I dream, it is not of him.
But I do think of him sometimes.
I think of him…
Of what we had and who we were…
I think of him, that boy I used to know.
I remember him, and smile.
We.grow.up. Dammit. and Thank God.
What a heart! What a wonderful connection. What a beautiful memory and thank you for sharing this.
I’m with Jayne. 🙂
One of our fellow bloggers once posted, “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never lost at all.” I appreciated that.
Bises,
Dawn
First love always touches up deeply, lovely writing, *hugs*
First love is the dawn, the shaft of sunlight under which we learn to blossom.
And sometimes it is the frost, the prickling ice under which our petals wither and die.
Every rose has its thorns. But with each love we bloom anew, yes? <3
“With each love we bloom anew..”
As you know I’ve been in “dissection” mode of my thoughts, HIS actions and words spoken and unspoken….
I forget who told me to read “Love 2.0” but I need to thank them.
I am getting better at viewing love as “endless” and not as “finite” as I have been.
While a past love may have been enough, or all for me- that doesn’t necessarily mean that there isn’t a brighter greater one out there.
Sorry I’m rambling
But you’re response ^^^ there just struck a nerve, similar to plucking a note on a harp- with a soft touch.
Thank you for sharing your positive memory of a lost love- it’s nice when you can add logic to a situation and know “it wasn’t meant to be”
gorgeous.
A lovely remembrance.
Comfortably numb, stoics and epicureans lead the same lifestyle with opposite viewpoints. The Greek view was that you pay for pleasure with pain, or that your pains allow you to learn what pleasure feels like. Two sides to the same coin, heads or tails?
I think you have to take the good with the bad. It’s not a matter of punishment or reward, it’s just the process of living and loving. The idea that everything is either always up or always down is to negate the importance of treading your own path through the hills and valleys. Those middle spaces can be tough to traverse, but sometimes the beauty is in the struggle.
And it really is about attitude. Epicureous was not miserable, even in hell.
As for the heads and tails… Must it be one or the other? I am rather fond of both. 😉
There was an episode of “The Twilight Zone” where a coin lands and comes to rest on edge. The main character ends up able to read minds until the coins gets tipped over.
Memory can play tricks. That can be good or bad, or both. The good ol days never really existed for anyone. You just remember them as good. The bad ol days never really existed either. It’s the same thing. Does right now exist? I’m not sure. I could be a sick figment of someone’s imagination. In the Alistair Sim version of “A Christmas Carol” Scrooge tells Marley “There’s more of gravy than of grave to you.” I like the idea of someone sassing a ghost.
The rising quantities of, I was going to say celluloid records but it also applies to some extent to books, out there freezes a moment in time. Time changes perspective in many ways. My senior year in high school I read the microfilmed London Times from 1789 to 1792. They had daily accounts of the French revolution. Seeing the events unfold from a daily perspective, {and an English perspective} is completely different from reading a detailed history book perspective. I have almost no pictures of me from years ago. Recall memory is so much less detailed than recognition memory. A persons personality is going to determine whether that time is recalled as a net positive or a net negative. Non-philosophical people will fall into the familiar Epicurean and Stoic groups.
How do you feel about hairy people?
Yes, right now exists. Or perhaps I should say *I* exist right now. And it is in the Right Now that I choose to live, which is a different concept entirely. It doesn’t mean I forget the past; nor does it mean I see it through rose-tinted lenses or paint it black. Times change. So do people.
As for hairy people… I *am* a hairy people (though I am NOT a hairy potter), so it stands to reason I’d have a modicum of tolerance for furries. Why do you ask?
And I don’t know about sassing ghosts, but I certainly do sass a few hoopy froods. 😉
Reading can be an adventure, a good author transports you through time and space to the setting of the story. If you ARE the author, you can be living in the past, but it is a past you create.
The present can be conjecture.
The hairy comment was self directed, I’m working on that Einstein do.
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