Blood Oranges

In my absence from writing, I have seemingly come full circle.

Lend me a few moments to explain.

I left a fellow because he was everything right and everything wrong for me. I could walk into his house, take off my shoes, and feel at home. I would hug him and smell fabric softener, feel his muscled arms around my shoulders, and rest my head on his shoulder. I've never felt so much at peace and yet so torn.

This fellow failed to understand my jokes, my pastimes, or the way I liked to wake up in the morning: slowly, with sex and snugs. He did not like it when I wanted to spend an extra few moments with him in the shower, rubbing his back and washing his butt. His hugs were curt and purposeful, never emotive or truly heartfelt. We bonded over a need for mutual comfort. We both got out of relationships where we fell hard for our respective ex-boyfriends, and in return sought something new and exciting in each other. Gathering the sensibilities that we were a compatible match due to no obvious problems on the surface, we stayed together for many months. It wasn't until he confronted me that he slept with someone else on a trip abroad did I begin to question what the fuck I was doing. Yet I stayed with him. He had become a fixture in my life. He was something I wasn't ready to give up. There was too much at stake.

I knew he was not the right man for me, at least in the moment. And yet I kept trying. Each day was a pyrrhic victory, selfishly holding onto him for one more day before he became someone else's toy. I claimed him as my own as I slept with couples, one night stands, and groups of people. He never knew. He will never know. But, I never let him forget the moment he went to Paris, went home with Hugo, placed the blame on his friend, and fucked over our relationship. There were many nights where all I could think about was his naked body on top, from Hugo's perspective, shuddering as he busted a load in Hugo's ass. It was pleasant to hear they snuggled for the rest of the evening.

We eventually broke up. Messy story. My heart had grown around his home, his lifestyle, and quirky sensibilities. I got used to waking up on his schedule, making his bed, eating breakfast while we played footsie under the table. I forgot about the others I slept with. He became my own. And without acknowledging it, I definitely l----d him. It was obvious in the way I brought over maple syrup to make french toast in the morning, the way I fluffed his pillows in the manner he preferred, or always made sure his apartment had fresh flowers in a vase. I never actually told him, even during the 2 years we were together, because both he and I held the "L" word in such high esteem. That word was taboo. Like it was if we knew we weren't meant for each other, so it was forbidden to tell him that I l----d him. That, or I was confident he would simply greet me with a blank stare and silence in return.

There is an obvious point in when people end relationships, and then there is a point when your friends tell you to stay the fuck away. I was past that point. I wanted to be a part of his daily routine, much like he was a part of mine, but alas, he lost interest. I would check-in on him in the morning or afternoon, eager to hear from him, yet he would wait hours or a day before getting back to me. This is coming from someone who seemingly always responded to his friends' texts, seldom delaying a response. I knew where I stood in his life. Knowing this behavior was harmful to myself, I called things off. Well, it's not quite hard to call things off when your partner isn't all that interested. Consider it a mutual agreement that our relationship was not doing well. And I was hurt. I'm not sure that sort of pain is capable of scabbing over. It's like an ever present scar, something that can be opened from time to time at a moment's notice. When someone really, really touches you deeply, I don't think you ever really recover. There were months of silence. So it goes.

There were many things that we did not agree on, but he has returned to my thoughts time and time again. He is a fixture in my mind, an idolization of what is possible in a highly functional, dysfunctional relationship. It has taken me the better part of 3 years to honestly come to terms with the reasons why I have l----d him so: the man is everything I want and nothing I need.

My time with him has tried to impart an ongoing lesson, taking me years to truly comprehend: what do I really want in a partner?

The man brings me peace, solace, security to my life. In my bouts of sex, drugs, and sleepless nights, he remains a constant, an ever-present force that brings everything into balance. I envy his abilities and influence on my life in this regard. In fact, I find it absolutely lovable. And perhaps that's his way of showing me that he l----s me. I won't ever really know, because he won't say so himself.

Rather than end on a sad note, I like the thought of ending on love. It's comforting, although it happens to be rather far from reality. Venture onward towards lonely nights.