If nothing else, I’m learning there is hope…still. I’m learning TO hope. Again.
There is a man. He makes me laugh. Kind of a lot.
We went too fast, er, are going too fast? Except, it is right where we are meant to be,
and the farther it goes, the more comfortable it gets. He’s done so many different things in his
life, been through so much. His level of
adventurism matches mine quite well.
Sometimes, I’m a little jealous of his oldest daughter and
how much he loves spending time with her…until I realize that that is silly because
I pause and apply it to an understanding of John loving Cecilia. He is a fabulous father.
He is ridiculously sarcastic in a dorky way that I
love.
The way he touches me makes my body burn like coal. At first when we kissed there was a hardness,
nibbling at each other, and it was good. On Valentine’s Day, his lips softened,
and now when we kiss, it’s like our mouths briefly melt into each other’s, and
it is so much better.
In two short months, we have navigated two issues of mine
and one of his. His issue played out in
not answering the phone or responding to my text messages. I tried to channel John, because running is
what I used to do, what I pull to even now to some degree. And he would not let me run. So I talked with friends to figure out how to
manage my issues and not let go. And he
finally answered the phone. So we
talked, and I learned things about him…about his fear and his processes…and I
hope he learned about me.
Even just typing this, my body lights up with the memory of
his touch. He holds my hand and doesn’t
let it go. Even when it’s awkward to keep
holding it. I like it even though it’s
weird. Maybe because it’s weird.
He tells me I’m beautiful all the time, and when he holds
me, touches me, kisses me…I feel more beautiful than I have in years. I don’t think about my belly. I don’t think about being a widow. I think about laughing and touching and
loving. I think about being loved.
I do not need a man to be happy. I do not need this man. But connection is a massive comfort to
me. And I cannot fake connections. He touches the smallest fibers inside me
somehow. It’s like from the moment we
met in person, our souls started to weave themselves together. With each meal we share, each time we make
each other laugh, each kiss planted and pair of entwined fingers, each time we
misunderstand each other and face the fear and hurt to talk about it and choose
to touch each other again, the weave thickens, becomes more intricate. I am learning to hope again. I’m learning to trust in love.
I know that all of this is just a beginning. But it is a strong one, full of beauty. And I’m so happy to have found it.
