Thoughts On A Lover

Thoughts on a Lover

         He wasn't as wild as me. But he was more something. We fit together so perfeclty it's hard to imagine how perfect it was. I don't know how to describe it. It was like the moment when everything in your life seems right, except the moment never ended. The years of our recklessness are all over my heart, but we weren't reckless. We were young.

         We spent our nights drinking wine in the sunset and sitting on rocks with our feet in the sand. In Greece he skinny-dipped for the first time. In New Zealand he skydived for the first time. In Zambia he slept in a tree, above a pride of lions for the first time. And it was way back in Canada, before all his other firsts with me, that he kissed me for the first time.

         He was fascinated by me, his own words. He was well-spoken, but quiet. He was a mixture of brooding, quite energy and the playful, excitable energy of a dolphin. I would put my head on his shoulder and shut my eyes, and I was safe. Nothing else mattered. He touched my hand, we held hands and I was happy. He kissed my lips and my body would turn to jelly in an instant, and I liked it.

         How could two people, so different as us come together in such a magnificent harmony ... what are the odds? How on earth could our first meeting been just by chance? Love like that doesn't happen by chance. I don't know what would have happened without our love.

         We explored the world, as cheesy as that sounds, and kept a red pin in every place we went to. Every place was together, every place has fantastic memories. He always loved the sunsets, and I always loved the stars. We slept on many beaches, collecting sand from each. I loved more than anything to lay in the sand, snuggled up next to him and stare into the past. Our moments of sentimentality were more than most. I treasured them, and so did he.

         We sat on airplanes and crowded busses and rickshaws and dingy's together. We folded our limbs beautifully around each other in blankets of a million rooms. We kissed and played and laughed and explored and imagined. We dove into the ocean and out of planes together, and never got tired of the company. In trees and on rooftops we slept, we joked about things and talked about the future. We lived. We were like children, nothing to do but learn and explore and have fun.

         That is what I want to remember, but it's when I remember this, that I start to cry. I know I should be happy. Thinking back to our memories, I know I'm luckier than most. But when I think back to all our incredible adventures, all the silly inside jokes and stupid little things we found comfort in, I just feel sad. Still I feel sad. It saddens me I will never laugh with him again, or curl up next to him on a plane. I was writing this to remember the happy times we had together, but I can't ignore my sadness. Not yet. I'm sad he is not a father, he would have been a wonderful father. We could have taken our children all over the world and show them all the beauty together.

         I miss his spirit. I miss his love.


          end.



PART II
A tangent

         What is love? Love, my love for him, is neverending. It's when every moment is spent dreaming about your togetherness. It doesn't wear off, like infatuation. Love is infatuation that lasts and lasts. Love is knowing when it's okay to cry, and know when it's okay to be angry. Love is being there for all the ups and all the downs. Love is caring so much for another person, this wonderful person, that your life just couldn't go on without them. Love is imagining the boring things together, it's imagining growing old and sitting at a table sorting out bills - both things I never got to do with him. Love is shutting your eyes and smiling, seeing colour, and spinning, and your heart pounding in your chest at only the thought of a touch. It's doing things you never imagined you would. Love is beautiful. Love is feeling. It's so many things there's no other word to describe it except love.

         Love is knowing that someone cares for you. We all want to feel loved. And I did. I know he loved me, and he knew I loved him. Sometimes I wondered if I loved him too much, but I decided that wasn't possible. It's only too much, if the person doesn't feel the same way back. Love is believing everything will be fine, and finding the beauty in everything. Love is me and him.