september 24

September 24, 2009 - Thursday

it all started with a story....

i had no idea i could cry so much in one day. but today, well, it's not like other days. so i'm done with crying, i'm done. don't know that i have any more tears.

this will be my last blog post for a while. unfortunately i'm married to big brother and feel like i'm trapped for a bit. there are just things he doesn't need to read or hear about me. it's my business not his. however, i don't trust him any further than i can throw him so i have to put this aside for now and move on. privacy has become a priviledge, no longer a respected necessity. fucker.

but back to this post. i certainly don't want to waste it talking about mark.

all of this, it all did in fact start with a story. a lovely little story. at 16 i watched a fantastic movie. it made me laugh and cry and stargaze and dream of what life would be like if i found a wonderful man, a modern day prince charming. i was 16. you would think just about any movie would do it but that wasn't the case. i had fairly eccentric tastes even back then and was just a little more realistic than most girls my age. i knew in my heart that love was not all roses and fairy tales. i knew it was something much more. a connection. i wanted it.

little did i know that the princess bride would later become such a pivotal part of my life. that i would one day have a tattoo of a buttercup. that years later, a wonderful man would come back into my life and remind me of just how much i loved that movie. how he remembered me talking about it during creative writing class. how, after all these years, he held onto that memory and what turned out to be a secret untapped love.

me, well, i remembered the movie, i remembered all the things i loved about it but frankly had forgotten the conversations i had with him during class. i had forgotten the times i would see him from a distance and wonder what he was really like under all the metal. heck, i was just a girl who didn't know what the hell she was doing, why would he even be interested in talking to me. i didn't have anything interesting to say. certainly not in comparison with his antics. who was this kid from the other side of the tracks and what intrigued me, drew me to him. seeing him walk hand in hand with my roommate in college and wonder, why her. i remember thinking even then that he deserved more. imagining what he would do with his life. would i ever cross paths with him again. i certainly hoped i would. but i never could have predicted what a beautiful man he would become.

lucky for me, some 20 years later, i had the chance to peel back those layers. i wasn't a hesitant curious 16 year old. instead i was a hesitant, curious married woman with two lovely children, a nice home, a comfortable life and a shitty, lonely marriage. i didn't want to complicate things. i didn't want to open myself up to get to know him. i didn't want to love him and i certainly didn't want him to love me. perhaps a nice lunch would suffice so we could reconnect, hang out, talk, laugh. help each other pass some time. no harm in that.

but i got so much more. i got to see him for who he is beyond the tough exterior. i got to laugh with him. i got to know him in a way that i doubt many people do. i got to feel him on top of me, under me, next to me. his breath was warm and inviting and unlike anything i've ever known. i got to make love to him. i got to fuck him like i've never fucked anyone before. i had the chance to love him and i took it. i took it, opened myself and he loved me in return.

and now i have to leave. i have to leave behind "what could have been" for "what i have". i have to swallow my medicine, take my lumps. i made the decision to marry mark, for better or worse, to start a family. granted, i never signed a paper saying that i would never again have an orgasm with a man or never again have incredible hot sweaty fulfilling sex. that i would never feel beautiful, smart, funny, wanted, alive. that i would never again be loved the way i wanted. nope. that wasn't part of the agreement. not part of the agreement at all. instead we agreed for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others. and you know what, i said i do. i made that promise.

i tend to believe that i am a person who stands by my word. i didn't do that this time. love has a funny way of sneaking up on you and undoing even your best intentions. and i never wanted to hurt him or feel the pain that i feel now. nope. didn't sign up for that either. i am not the same person i was just a few months again. today, i am broken. but i'm hoping tomorrow i can look at things in a better light. that i can take with me what he has given so selflessly. his love.

i love him with my very breath. i will always love him and that won't ever change. i believe in him. i know that he is destined for so much more. i know that whatever he wants to do, he'll do it and this journey he is taking, it might be a lonely one but he'll always have a part of me with him. every step, of every day, of every waking hour. i made a home with him, in him, and i'll never be able to share it with him. that's the really horrible part. here it is, ready, waiting, but i have to turn and walk away.

he is the most beautiful, sweet, smart, funny, tender hearted, sexy ass mother fucker that i have ever had the privilege to know. i don't regret a minute of the time spent together. instead i cherish it and i take with me a sense of self that i had lost. he helped me find it again. he woke me up to who i am, what i can be and what i will become. he gave me french toast, some fast rides and moldy peaches. he believes in me. he loves me. he adores me. he made everything in my world shine.

i just hope he can take the same away from me. that somehow, i've helped him realize that he is all the things i see in him. that he's everything he ever needs to be. that he should never doubt himself or his path. it's his path and a beautiful one it is. and who's to say where it will take him. perhaps he will again be in my life. i would certainly love to be next to him one day.

but this is where it ends. right where it began. with a lovely little story that is forever etched in my heart, my soul and it ends with the man who brought that story to life in me. oh westley, my love. as you wish...i will never be the same.

- your b

and this is what justin wrote the same evening and shared with me.

So I am once again single. Dammit.

Backstory: I stole a woman's heart, she stole mine, we shared an amazing yet brief and intense love. But the "rightful heir" aka her husband, stepped in to steal her back.

Truthfully, I should never have been fooling around with a married woman to begin with. But if you knew the entire story you'd understand, and you'd want me to do something about it. If this were a movie, I'd gather damning proof against my foe and present it in defense of my case. I'd tell of my true love, of his false love. I'd tell of my empowerment of her, his imprisonment of her. Then there'd be the obligatory hollywood-style swordfight to the death. (hey, in hollywood it's always like that, thanks to Eroll Flynn.)

Flash Gordon saved whats-her-name. Westley saved Buttercup. Kurt Russel saved Kim Kattral in "Big Trouble in Little China." The list could continue, but writer's lube (aka beer) has fogged my movie memory just a bit.

Anyways, back to the issue at hand. The swordfight.

It simply cannot happen this time around. I'm too late. My love from long ago has willfuly entered into a marriage contract from which she cannot escape. Even someone as dastardly and as devious as myself will have no effect on her prison walls.

She was given an ultimatum, to either cease and decist, or to lose everything. I know deep down that her everything is her children, and she cannot bear the thought of having to live without them in her daily life. So the husband, evil fucker that he is, knows he has the leverage in his favor. She will continue to be his household prisoner. She'll cook and clean, take care of the kids, wipe up vomit, apply band-aids to cuts (he can't, since he's weak-stomached and faints when he sees blood), and be the good wife that he tells society she is.

All the while, she and I are in pain. I'll go on with my life, following my path wherever it takes me, always remembering her. She'll go on with her life, nurturing her kids, knowing that she is indeed loved, although not by the man who married her.

So much for a hollywood ending. The days of swordfights are long-gone.