she walked in dressed as a boy because she had to discuss visa matters at immigration in Japan and according to her passport she’s a male and her passport photo is of her former superbly bearded self. When she walked in all I saw was my former boyfriend wearing a familiar outfit from years ago: a simple black t-shirt and faded red jorts, messy hair haphazardly pulled back showcasing amazing bone structure belying beautiful native American genetics.
And it hit me.
I’m still in love with him.
Damn that grief as she always hits so hard and unexpectedly, it feels below the belt. I thought I was over him. I told myself I was since there’s no him anymore. Fuck, did I just fall into that trap of saying something until I believed it? And all it takes is one moment- one two-second moment that stills my heart, stops my lungs and brings me to my knees because I can’t see for the flood of tears streaming down my face.
Those two seconds feels as long as the duration of our relationship, as snapshots of our together life flashes through my head like a flip-book montage.
The very fast image reel is dizzying and this undeniable moment of truth knocks the wind out of me.
Not only am I not over him, I want him back.
But I can’t have him.
He’s not ever coming back because he doesn’t exist anymore.
And that hurts.
He made me believe two previously unthinkable things:
Usually I am very fuck marriage. I have never liked the institution of marriage and especially after having experienced the denial of this privilege in my lesbian relationship, marriage was never a want of mine. Then I met him and felt this refreshingly easy contentment without a hint of complacency. Being with him made me think that I really could til death do us part. He made me hungrier for life but didn’t leave me wanting. And he did all of those seemingly little, inconvenient things that are actually some of the most meaningful things anyone can ever do. If a more suspicious or insecure me had planned those stop-bys just to check on me because he loved me that much and wanted to make sure I was okay as tests, he beyond passed. He never stopped passing, by the way. He’d, of course, make me think that I wouldn’t be able to see him some meaningful day/night but he did that on purpose so I’d be all the more ecstatic when I did see him. It made him look good and me feel even better. Because he knew me so fucking well already.
I never wanted kids. Ever. Until him. He’s really good with kids; he likes them, all ages. I don’t dislike the young ones; in fact, I like them- sincerely. They even like me back. The weird ones like me a lot. But I never wanted my own; the thought of family like that simultaneously terrified, nauseated and depressed me. Yeah, he changed that. I was absolutely bewildered when I realized this but I thought about it and it made sense, we were already each other’s family. And talking about our future with some little people in it wreaking havoc made quiet sense in my bewildered mind.
Being with him made me believe in our future.
That future was a short-lived beautiful idea.
But not all ideas become reality.
I still think it could have been really great though, which makes my insides hurt.
Being with him changed me for the better.
No wonder I’m still in love with him.