I feel like, with all the stuff that goes on between Muffin and me… all the conversations, photos (the few exchanges that do take place) and videos (the even FEWER exchanges that take place), our relationship is rock-solid. I feel like… hrm. Well, maybe not “rock,” unless there’s some sort of rock that LOOKS super-strong, but is really quite mooshy and crumbly on the outside with a really, REALLY tough centre. That’s what I see our relationship as…. Is there a rock like that? I reckon there’s got to be somewhere.
That’s what I feel about our relationship… like we are BLOODY solid at the core; we are strong in our convictions, support and respect for one another. Our history is beautiful and has built us up as a couple that can withstand most anything because of what we have seen and endured both together and individually.
But when you travel out, there’s a layer that makes-up about 1/28th of the rock that is a little out of control and that you just can’t maintain, no matter how hard you try… bits keep falling off. Like if you were to take a bowling ball, cover it in maple syrup and then roll it around in corn flakes then play catch with it. The bits just won’t stay on and things just get messy.
The main reason this layer is so out of control is because of the distance and time since we’ve seen one another…
We are currently 3,000 miles away from one another, next week we will be 10,000 miles apart. It is a horrific distance that is no good when you just want to be near someone. This distance is made all-the-worse because of the fact that we have spent a total of two weeks face-time together in the last eight years. The emotional pulls that take place in a situation like this are huge and painful. Some days I wake up and feel like I am being ripped-apart, like all of my limbs are being pulled-off one-by-one. I hate this distance and I hate the fact that the world is so stupid and large and I can’t just take a quick walk to wherever he is at any given moment. I just want to be able to smell him again. I want to smell him and show him I love him.
The time for words has now expired and they seem to have become mechanical and monotonous for me.
There are only so many times you can SAY that you love someone before you aren’t as affected by the novelty of it anymore. In the beginning, when he first told me he loved me again I would become giddy and out of control with fits of glee, but now, all those words seem to bring (and I’m not complaining about this) is a warm sense of security. Knowing that someone loves me to the ends of the earth and back is nice, but… sigh. Emails, phone calls and videos just aren’t cutting the mustard anymore. I need the real deal and I can feel myself becoming slightly more frail every day, and I presume this pattern will carry on until I get what my mind and body think I need.
I need human interaction and warmth from Muffin.
I feel like the words I say to him just don’t do justice to the things that I feel and I hate myself for not being able to spin more magical word-webs. I hate the fact that on the days when words don’t come so easily to me I cannot just go up to him, kiss the left side of his neck and actually make him feel the words form from the movement of my lips as I whisper that I love him into his ear. I want him to become caught-up in an olfactory storm as I come up to him and hold him… smelling my perfume, laundry detergent and lotion. I want every single one of his senses to know I love him, not just his ears and eyes. I want him to taste the words on my lips along with the flavour of the quavers I’ve just eaten.
The other reason this layer is so crumbly and stressful is because of the reason our core is so strong, our history.
Dane has broken me so many times in the past… broken me, cheated on me and left me for other females. Every single time I start talking to him again I always proceed with caution and get caught up in a whirlwind of the emotions that initially made me love him and want to spend my life with him all those years ago. This stint, since we’ve started talking again, is the longest we’ve spoken throughout the years. Nine months. Usually, by this time he would have gotten married or had another kid or gone on a shagging spree to rival some high-grade porn star (I’ve not got ANY idea of the names of porn stars… just think of one and compare that person to Muffin when it comes to past promiscuity-levels.).
This time though, the velocity of everything is so much greater… the words we say, the things we are doing, they are bigger than anything we’ve ever encountered as a couple. We are actually doing this and there is absolutely no turning back… I’ve bought my ticket and I am leaving in just over eight weeks. But in those eight weeks, I worry about how much might change.
When he and I very first started talking again, when Christopher and I had just split up and were still living together, Dane told me that he was concerned that I might participate in one last ‘moment of intimacy’ with Chris, as a way of ‘sealing the past,’ as it were… he had told me that he had done it with past partners and suggested that he might do it with Karri upon his return to America.
Obviously, this did NOT happen with Christopher and me. I had no interest whatsoever in participating in any extra-curricular intimate activities with him after the date of severance.
Since then, Muffin has come leaps and bounds in his divorce; he has announced that he will be divorcing Karri upon his return not only to her, but to his family, he has informed her of my moving-in with him upon my arrival to america and has also started the paperwork process (don’t even ASK about this, as it is a massively sore subject due to Karri’s amazingly great lazy-levels… they supersede MY ex, which is not something to be sniffed at!)… despite all the things he has done and said both to me and Karri and despite the devotion he has pledged and the complete comfort and security he has tried to instil into me, I regularly find myself remembering the moment we had that conversation…. The way my stomach sank at the thought of him going home and sleeping with Karri again, even if just for a final hurrah.
I have just never known any better from him… he gets frustrated with me when I mention the fact that I am worried he will cheat on me in the seven weeks before I arrive, but I really, honestly feel completely okay with the gingerness I am approaching the relationship with. Everyone keeps saying to me that I’m “THE One” and I should take solace in that fact and trust him, but my logic dictates that I’ve always been his “the one” and that most certainly didn’t stop him from doing all the things he’s done in the past.
Overall, I DO trust him, I honestly do… I just occasionally get one of these stupid little twinges in my tummy that reminds me what I’ve been through with him over the last nine years and helps me to bear in mind what he is capable of… the heartache he has the ability to inflict upon me. I mean, if I didn’t prepare myself for this and he did do something, where would my heart be left? It wouldn’t. I would completely fall to pieces. I feel an overall need to protect my heart and make sure that in the unlikely event that something WAS to happen to it, that it receives minimal damage.
So here I am, fifty-seven days away from america and feeling pensive and tired. I presume a lot of it comes down to the fact that I have been mega-busy and just haven’t had the time to sit down and talk to Muffin much lately. We have both been so, so busy that an even bigger chunk of distance has been placed between us. Gone are the days that we used to sit around on the phone for hours at a time, talking about how much we love one another and all the things we’d do to be together… gone are the web-chats late into the night… the words pinging up through the fibres and cables that make the internet possible. It’s all gone and all I really have is the hope that when I arrive it will be fine.
I’ve no doubt that the first several weeks will be absolute bliss… existing in the world that we had dreamed about when we were sixteen. The world of adulthood and living together and not having anything try to pry us apart. But once all that special, glittery dust has settled, what will we have? I’d like to hope that we will come through it with a beautiful relationship. That we will settle into a routine that suits both of us and allows us to work off of one another happily and well. Overall, I am certain this is how it will all work out, but I still worry from time-to-time that I will have to catch that return flight home.
I love him… I love him such a substantial amount and I hate that I am having all these stupid little pangs. They have certainly decreased since booking my ticket, but some are still there and they just hurt. They make me feel guilty for not trusting him… make me feel guilty and stupid. I hate that I feel like I can’t trust my heart or him sometimes. I hate the uncertainty and fear.
I am trying to just not focus on it… to not focus on the fact we are apart and the fact that SHE will be the one that is there, waiting for him at the airport when he arrives home from his deployment. That SHE will be the person that gets to help him adjust to being back if he needs it…. I hate it. I hate that she most likely doesn’t see that despite the fact that they are splitting up, she will get to be there for him when he needs someone the most. I hate that she has taken advantage of him for all these years and right now, I am not in a position to do anything about it.
Granted, in fifty-seven days I WILL be doing something about it.
In fifty-seven days I will be there for him like nobody ever has been.
I will love him as gently as he needs it and show him that it is possible for someone to be there for him unconditionally and selflessly.
In fifty-seven days I am going to be everything he ever wanted and I can’t wait.