If you have your groove back how not fall off a ledge

Once when I was traveling alone, at a restaurant I met this woman who had become a native at a foreign land. She had dark skin, and a strong New York accent. She thought that I was strange, a very outgoing, opinionated, non-non-sense business woman with wild, crazy stories to tell. I was fixated on technology and when the restaurant told me that they had wifi but they didn't, I was incensed. She was a fixture of a town full of yogies from the Western world. She served wheat grass shots to yogies and worn local attires.

I learned that she hailed from Oklahoma and lived in New York until she arrived this town 12 years ago. She had been living between New York and this Far East third world country for over a decade.

My look was deceiving. I was more Western than she had imagined. I was tanned by then, and looked a bit Tibetan. No one really bothered me in this town where Westerners often got harassed. Yet, when I opened my mouth I sounded like a California native, to her anyway.

She did not realize that I was married and with children. She thought that I was single and childless. I had been told by many that I looked rather young. When I dropped my weight (due to exhaustion and lack of sleep and yes, depression), I looked like a kid.  I was blessed with good genes. The older I got the more I realized how lucky I truly was. I looked easily like someone in her early 30s. I often got twenty or thirty some year olds hitting on me, claiming that they "are old souls" to try to impress me.  I was not impressed. I was always addicted to one type of guys, physically.

I told this woman that I was visiting a friend in town. This friend told her that I was always the party girl. A hard working party girl. In my defense I told her that I was not always like this. I was drained, I was careless about my looks and I put on weight for a few years after the kids. She took a look at me and said, "So you got your groove back."

Did I? I asked myself this question. I was reminded by my therapist who said that while I tend to self destruct, where the most important thing was concerned, I seem to be able to save myself from falling off a ledge. I have, from time to time, let my emotions run wild and fallen into a mode of self destruction, but I usually can pull myself out. But at times I feel that I couldn't. Where my emotions run high, and my yearning of someone would go out of control.

I was a wild child. I took control of my hideous past and willed myself out of trouble and focused on what was important.

I was emotionally devastated. I had fallen in love once with a man who was abusive emotionally and took advantage of me. I wish that he could have just told me to never contact him again. That would have been easier. But he told me instead that I would need to do whatever he wanted me to do, and I waited for him to call. Waited for him to email, waited for him to love me back. He never did tell me that he loved me. I don't know what's worse. For someone to announce that he loved me and then disappear or for someone who never tells me that he loves me but still expects me to do thing for him because I told hi that I loved him. I'm no longer 22. I fell in love at 22 and every man since him was a footnote. I fell in love again at 39, and my world had since become a roller coaster filled with incredible highs and lows and I have never felt this alone in this battle against my demons.

What had left was that groove. I had gotten my groove back, said the New York transplant in this remote town in Far East where salad was a luxury and sushi was unheard of by most.

But how does one not fall off the ledge? How to control the emotional ups and downs and know how deep you've dug and how much of a mirage you've built around you? How to manage the insane emotions of longing someone something so bad that you could only cry with the thought of his name in your head? Those are million dollar questions.

I have no answer. I just know that I cannot continue on down this path.

The end of a Polyamorous Relationship

This atypical day, you were sitting on a bench, waiting for my arrival. You had held your body high, your back straight, you waited as I approached. You were not expecting me to be on time, so you asked what's wrong. I was in tears the moment I saw you, and I was not crying because I was unhappy to see you, but because I knew the truth.

"We had a good run." You said.

I said, "it was epic." I had pretended this was going to have a French ending. We'd live happily ever after, in the shadow, but we'd live together, happy, even, knowing you had belonged with me, and I you.

But now it was going to end.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Nothing. Nothing happened." You replied.

But that's not true. Everything, from the beginning to the end, it was just lies after lies.

I never wanted to see anything, not a sign, not if it's in front of me. Now my heart was fully broken.

I cried. You held me. Let me. I had never cried in front of you. Not anyone.

"So what now?" I asked.

"Now we part ways. We are adults." You said. Calmly. Lovingly. Pretended love was the best kind of love.

"But why? Why did you tell me you loved me so?" I knew I sounded like a dummy. A woman I would ordinarily despise. A weak, heart-broken, terrible-at-judging-people kind of woman. A loser.

"Because it was what you needed to hear. I gave you what you needed to hear." You held my hand. You almost looked sincere.

"Was any of it real?" I asked.

"Yes. We had a good time." You said.

"Is this how you say goodbye?" I knew I sounded like a fool.

"No, I usually do not say goodbye. We shall be friends. Always."

This was not how I envisioned the end. I had thought I had perfected this game. I never lost a hand. I did not lose the hand the last time. I should not have lost the hand this time. I always knew this was a game. You - played me like a flute.

"Com'on, you know as well as I know, you never wanted to see me only." You were then becoming cruel. I hated the stating of obvious.

"But you did too. I knew you were seeing others. You hid everything from me. You disappeared for long stretches of time. You only wanted me when you were free, when you and I were separated for a period of time. Almost never fails. You ignored me on those other days. I had to find other people, to occupy my space, my time." I tried to argue.

You did not say anything. You looked almost pained. As if you knew what I said was the truth, and you couldn't offer me anything in response.

"I have cried for you." Last, weak, attempt.

Silence.

"I have loved you more than you will ever know." I was defeated.

"If you write enough about us, about your undying love, you'd actually believe it." You gave me a crooked smile and your tone became sarcastic.

"How many men have you been with while we are dating?" You asked.

"I told you you could date as many women as you want." I replied in defense.

"And yet, here we are." You concluded. A polyamorous relationship ends when one party can't handle it anymore.

"So what now?" I began to cry.

"Now we move on." You looked resolved.

"Would I fall in love again?" I asked you. I wanted so much for this to be it. This being the love that defied gravity, the love that proved everything I've ever read, to be wrong. I wanted to believe I was the one who changed your course, I was the one whom you believed to be THE one, even though I never believed THE one existed for me.

"Did I break your heart?" I asked, now attempting to be funny.

"No, but I was hurt too." You had never called me a liar, a cheater, an unfaithful person who's not trustworthy. You had never gotten upset with me. You simply, disappeared most of the time, only resurfacing when you wanted me again.

That's why I couldn't possibly get upset with you. You had covered your track so well.

"Now what?" I began to feel weak in my stomach. I wanted to throw up. I was feeling dizzy and I wanted to scream, I had never lost temper before this day.

"Stay. Stay with me. I need to be with you. You and I were supposed to be together, for the remains of our day." I resorted to begging instead

"That is so unsightly. You will be fine. Go home. We can talk again." You said in such an authoritative tone.

I knew better. This would the last time I'd ever hear from you. 

"Is there another way to this?" I asked.

"I told you. Nothing needed to change. We meet and we have fun and we go on our separate ways." You went back to the rule book, rule # 1. Never have any expectations.

I complicated things. I had imagined us walking into the sunset and spending the rest of our lives together, falling asleep under the palm tree, walking on snow covered tracks, staring into the northern light. I loved you. The only epic love I had ever felt. I had imagined that you loved me so much so that you'd change your ways. I had then become obsessed and found out everything about you. The real you. The version of you I was never supposed to find out. You kept three other women on the side, like me. Never mind I dated three other men, on the side, also kept away from you, I wanted you all to myself.

"Bye now." I began to get up, but I was feeling dizzy, and I went to the nearby trash can and threw up.

How terrible. This was how you'd remember me, the last impression was me barfing.

Tonight I would go home alone. I would cry, cry until I no longer could shed any more tears. Tonight I would take all of my photos of you, digital or non-digital, delete, erase and destroy them all. Tomorrow I'd call boyfriend # 2, and when I see him, I'd give him the best freaking blow job in the world.

And if I ever run across you again, I'd pretend I never lost my cool, I'd chitchat just enough time for you to believe that I never thought much of you, and that enough time had passed, I'd forgotten how much you hurt me. I'd be fine. Really. I'd be fine. 

Epilogue for "We shook on it"

This is a follow up story for We Shook on It.


At BART station.
Girl picks up a bottle of Aloe Vera juice.
While waiting for boy's arrival.
It's 5 O'clock.
They shake on it.
Yesterday.
On BART.

Boy texts girl at 4 O'clock.
"What if I'm early?"
Girl texts back.
"Cool. See you at 4:30."
Boy texts girl back. 30 minutes later.
"Running 30 minutes late".
Girl buys juice.
Sits in a cafe.
Watches others leave.
Waits for the boy.


Boy shows up.
Calls her by her nickname.
Boy is tall.
Girl is short.
Even in 5 inch heels.
Boy sits down.
Takes a sip of aloe water.
Like sweetened jelly.
Like the sweet girl.
Who is not his wife.

Girl drives boy to her house.
Familiar place to the boy.
No one but the boy has ever been.
Sun is setting over the bay.
Beautiful view.
Garden is blooming.
Neighbor's dog is barking.
Weather is warm like a summer day.
Boy is smiling.
Girl says, "Welcome back home."
Boy says, "I've been wanting to fuck you ever since I got into the car."

Girl laughs.
Boy bends down, half way, to kiss the girl.
Girl thinks, "Does he kiss his wife this way too?"
Boy carries girl to the bedroom.
Lifts her up, sets her down, wraps his arms around girl.
Boy has long arms, long legs, toned body and beautiful face.
Girl wraps boy with her legs, arms around boy's neck.
They embrace, kiss and kiss some more.
Boy takes care of the girl, slowly easing into things.
Girl just wants to kiss.
And kiss shall be.
Boy and girl kiss.
Throughout.
Girl collapses.
Boy follows.
Sun is down.
Boy needs to go home.
To his wife. Girl knows that too.

So many clocks.
Girl likes to collect clocks.
She tickers with them.
When boy is not around.
She fixes them.
Then hangs them.
Boy notices 5 working clocks.
And 10 none working ones.
One working clock says.
It's half pass seven.
Wife is waiting.
Friday evening is date night.

Girl ties her hair in a bun.
Close her backyard door.
That faces a lush garden.
A plum tree. A lemon tree. A rose bush.  A tiny little archway that takes no one nowhere.

Boy wants to score some Blow.
LSD or Acid.
Boy just turned 30.
Boy likes dancing. While high.
Without his wife. Without the girl.

Boy is beautiful and Swedish.
Like Eric Northman from True Blood.
And like Eric Northman.
Boy does not do emotions.
Like a true Scandinavian.

Girl needs to go to a book club.
With four other women.
All not married.
Some with children. Some without.
All in their 40s.
Girl is 40. Never been married.
Never been kissed.
Certainly not like this.

Girl drives boy to BART.
"Have a nice weekend."
Boy waves and smiles.
A proper goodbye is not in order.
In a circumstance like this.

We shook on it

On BART.
A couple.
Boy is tall.
Girl is short.
Girl says. "I missed you."
Boy echos. "I missed you too."
Boy kisses the girl.
They really love each other.

Boy asks the girl. "How about tomorrow morning?"
Girl answers. "I have a meeting at 9."
Boy says, "I have a meeting from 8 to 10. That does not work."
Girl agrees. "No it does not."
Boy says, "It's been two weeks."
Girl acknowledges. "I know. It's been that long for me too."
Boy says, "How about in the afternoon? When can you get out?"
Girl says, "Maybe twoish."
Boy thinks a bit, "That could be work. I can leave by 4:30."
Girl asks, "Should I drive in?"
Boy says, "No, definitely not. Friday traffic is a mess."
Girl says, "OK I'll get my car and drive to meet you at Rockridge BART."
Boy finally smiles, "That sounds good."
Boy extends his hand to the girl. "Let's shake on it. I'll see you at 5."
Girl shakes hand with boy.
Girl kisses the boy.
They really love each other.

Boy checks texts on his phone.
Girl asks, "Wife is wondering where you are?"
Boy says, "Not really. She's not home yet."
Girl sighs, "Too bad we couldn't do it tonight."
Boy says, "We shook on it. I'll see you tomorrow at 5."
Boy squeezes girl's thighs.
Girl puts her head on boy's shoulder.
Boy kisses the girl.
Girl kisses back.
They really love each other.

Faucet

For the love that I will always feel for you, for the intense feeling that I should bury, for the burning question that will always go unanswered, and for all the tears that I shed for you, in private but will never admit in a million years.

You turned your emotions on and off like a faucet.

Like clock-work.

Eight O’clock on.

Twelve O’clock Off.

I tried to do that.

Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.

A leaky faucet.

I tried to fix it.

With a Home Depot bought wrench.

And a tube of crazy glue, from the Dollar Store.

I accidentally sealed it, completely.

It no longer leaked.

And was permanently shut off.

So I cried.

Love, Lust, and everything in between

“Love seeks closeness, but desire needs distance.”
- Mating in Captivity by Esther Perel


“In a world that required lots of order and normalcy, their relationship had neither. It was as if they had fallen into a dark bottomless hole, and the deeper they plunged the tighter they clung onto each other, pretty soon the only way for them to breathe was through each other’s mouths, and the only way to survive the permanent darkness was the feeling of the other body’s warmth.”


“There.” He turned her the other way, now her buttock was facing him, his hand draped in front of her bosoms and they were in a classic spooning position.

“I still want to be inside of you.” He said and with that she felt him. This was becoming a pattern.

When they were in private settings, which was often the case, they seemed to spend a lot of time in bed, with him inside of her. Even when they were not fucking actively, he rested inside of her while his hand holding hers. She observed quietly but did not make any comments.

The sun was still up but school was out. Children with their parents, presumably, were laughing as they were led down the hill, footsteps faded as the street became quiet once again.

She wanted to ask him, “Do we have to go?” But no words could come out, he was fucking her again, at first gently like rocking a baby in a cradle but then it became urgent as if this was the last time they’d ever fuck. They always fucked as if this was the last fuck on earth, the world had suffered apocalypse, and tomorrow they’d all disappear because it was the very end.

She lifted her legs, resting them on his shoulders as he entered her that way, while still kissing her, he said, “I want you to be mine. Completely mine.” She caressed his full set of hair, and answered, “Yes I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

She liked science fiction books and despised romance novels, anything to do with the overt description of feelings, especially female emotions; she hated them and prided herself for having none of them. She did not do emotions. That was one of the reasons this relationship worked. A relationship built on sexual attraction and adventures, not on the analysis of feelings. As for the affection and love she developed for this man who was thrusting him into her at the moment, it was just purely unexpected, and added bonus, she rationalized. She wondered how many women would agree with her logic. Women were typically trained to fall in love first before falling in lust. She had not quite figured out how it could be possible to love someone without first having sex. What if sex was terrible? What if you had decided that you’d love someone but realized that sexually you were terribly incompatible? She thought one day she should write a real guide to relationships. One based on sexual chemistry and not on love.

“Kiss me.” He demanded. She opened her mouth to welcome his lips. Their bodies melted together and she was feeling dizzy. He had fucked her silly. It had been a long while since they had sex. Since she had sex.

In a world that required lots of order and normalcy, their relationship had neither. It was as if they had fallen into a dark bottomless hole, and the deeper they plunged the tighter they clung onto each other, pretty soon the only way for them to breathe was through each other’s mouths, and the only way to survive the permanent darkness was the feeling of the other body’s warmth.

She had done a lot of reading on relationships. Not because she was in one with him, but because she was curious as to when her passion for him would die out. She prided herself for knowing the pattern and statistics, for knowing the end before the end would arrive inevitably. According to the books she read, passion was a result of unknown. The development of any relationship was always like a bell curve. You hit the epitome of high at 3 months. The proverbial in-love stage, where your pupils were dilated and heart pounded constantly, the stage when you could not possibly fall asleep or function like a normal human being. By the sixth month you would hit the plateau, where you knew the world was a better place because you were in love with the person whom you had formed an incredible bond with. You couldn’t comprehend why others could not find love, it was that easy, and it was really that magical. By seventh months your high would gradually fade, you would start having less frequent sex but you’d still have a great time at it, you would settle into a routine. Monday would be football night, Tuesday would be Chinese takeout night, Wednesday would be boys’ night out, Thursday would be your laundry night, Friday would be dinner date, and Saturday would be the night you two visited friends and showed your love to the world. Sunday was quiet. You might stay over at his place, or you might eat a quick dinner before dashing back to your own bachelorette pad. You’d look at your cramped space and dreamed of the day you two would shop at the IKEA in Emeryville, after going to see apartments in Russian Hill or the Mission. Occasionally you wondered, “Could I possibly fit my clothes in his closet at his apartment? Where would I put my shoes? Would he ask me to move in instead of us finding a space to call our own?” By the twelfth month you would come back down to earth. You would feel like yourself again. That feeling of incredible longing and excitement of being with that individual you had fallen in love with, gone. Replaced with it, was the feeling of security, sense of peace. You wondered what happened to passion, why couldn’t you feel the heart beating like you’ve just run a marathon again? No exceptions. Every relationship followed that routine, like gravity, it was science. Science never lied. Until now.

It had been 16 months. She had not hit the plateau yet. It frightened her to know that the bell curve did not apply to their relationship, and it puzzled her beyond belief. She felt the same level of excitement when she saw him every time. And each time a new game was invented and each time they renewed their love and commitment by fucking like rabbits, like this was going to be the last fuck on earth.

“We should go.” He massaged her head as he spoke gently. She had drifted to sleep, her hand holding his. She had buried herself in his chest, fallen asleep with the previous thoughts intact.

She got dressed. Still feeling dizzy, she straightened her shirt, her jeans, and she put on a straw hat and sunglasses. It was the middle of the winter in San Francisco, but the weather was warm, in its 60s as a matter of fact, it was as if a beautiful spring was arriving.

“Want to head to the park?” He asked. She agreed. She always just agreed with whatever he said. It was not that she was always submissive, she was a career woman, she did not just hold a job, she held a prominent job, she was, by all means, his equal. But in this relationship, she deferred to him in every decision they had to make.

He took his car out of the garage, a green Audi, opened the door for her and she glided in. They rarely went outside, it was the first time, in their 16 months long relationship, they saw each other in the daylight. She could see him better under the sun. His hair was longer, curly, and turning gray. His face still looked young but she knew that he had passed his prime but he was extremely handsome, to her. She did too but she was given the genetic advantage of having her parents ‘genes. Her dad was in his late 60s and looked like someone in his 40s. People still thought her mother was her sister. She knew when she was in her 60s, people would think she was in her 40s.

They found a bench in the park. They sat, watching kids chasing a football, a squirrel, and an escaped balloon. Children’s laughter was infectious, so she was laughing too. She laughed like a kid. He turned to look at her, he was smiling, he adored her like she belonged to him, like she was part of him.

“Are you warm enough hon?” He asked as he pulled her closer. Now they were sitting inches apart. Neither one of them liked a lot of PDAs, it felt cheap and overdone. But at that moment she wanted to kiss him. So she leaned over to find his lips and he sensed that too, and soon they locked lips.

Just then, she heard a woman calling out her name, “Amanda, is that you?” She let go of his lips, and his grip. A woman in neon green jogging shirt and black jogging pants was all of sudden standing in front of her. She looked up and saw that it was her high school friend Tasha. They had not seen each other for a couple of years, not since the last high school reunion.

She wondered if she should introduce Henry. But then it was too late. Henry had extended his hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Henry. Amanda’s boyfriend.” Tasha tossed Amanda a curious look – Amanda remembered that the yearbook update and realized why the look all of sudden. She felt a tuck in her stomach.

But then Tasha returned back to her talkative, warm self and started to chat with Henry. Amanda felt a little relaxed. It was how it should be played out, she thought to herself.

Neon green suit wearing Tasha had just come back from Russia for her two week long vacation, she had started a new job in SoMa, and she was moving in with her boyfriend of six years who lived in Inner Richmond, she had been shopping for a car, so that she didn’t have to deal with Muni. In five minutes, Tasha had downloaded her life. Then she turned to Henry. “So, how do you know Amanda?” She asked innocently.

Henry smiled at Amanda, as if he was trying to assure her nothing private or personal would be revealed. “I met her many years ago. We dated then. We started to date again, over a year ago.” He said, while looking at Amanda, still smiling.

“That’s great!” Tasha exclaimed unnecessarily. Amanda imagined that’s how Tasha was with everyone, always exaggerating every minor detail of the conversation.

She hoped that Tasha would go away soon.

“So how is it different this time?” Tasha continued to drill Henry.

“We get along really well. Emotionally we are compatible.” Henry answered in a very scripted way, as if he had been anticipating this question for sometime now.

“Awww…” Tasha hugged Amanda as she began to finally move on.

“You guys look lovely!” Tasha beamed a large smile as she started to put on her ear buds while touching the screen of the silver iPod.

“Thank god!” Amanda thought to herself, feeling relieved that the meeting was finally about to be over.

“See you around.” Tasha hugged Amanda and shook Henry’s hand, and then she took off on the green paved path.

Soon the park was quiet again. Children had gone to the other corner with their nannies, one could barely hear them laughing. A relieved squirrel came near the bench, seeking a nut someone had dropped earlier during the day. The sun was beginning to set. From the park you could see the bay, watching sunset over the San Francisco bay was always one of Amanda’s favorite pass times.

“Thank you.” She found herself saying.

“You’re welcome.” Henry squeezed her hands.

“I suppose one day it would happen.” She said.

“I suppose.” He agreed.

“You know I love you.” She said, nonchalantly. It was a fact. A known fact.

“I know that. Baby.” He released his hand that was holding hers.

She reached for his hand, and held it once again, as she wondered what he meant by that.

Silence engulfed the space between them. Fog was rolling in. She trembled. She forgot her long coat. It was going to get chilly soon. She wanted to take off. It was getting late.

The last bit of rays was hitting the grass. It was the perfect time for a perfect photo. Henry took a lot of photos of her, mostly in compromising positions in the bedroom. She never took any photos of Henry. For some reason, she never had any desire to do so but somehow she wished that she had a photo of him. So that she could look at it when they were apart.

“This would have been a perfect photo.” She looked at Henry, who was looking ahead, lost in thoughts. Henry had the most elegant profile, she was undoubtedly in love with this man, yet surprising to her still, she was still in lust with him after these many months.

Any photographer would know sunset made the best lighting. It was a wet dream to a photographer if they had seen this sunset. Amanda thought it to herself.

“May I take a photo of us?” Amanda asked.

“Sure.” Henry answered without taking his eyes off a patch of grass.

So she took out her iPhone, and faced the lens toward the two of them. Just before she pushed the button to take a photo, Henry turned his face to find her lips, and the first and only photo of them was born. Just like that, she had a photo of him, kissing her with the sun setting and birds chirping away.

“I should take you home.” He touched her shoulder, rubbing it up and down to keep her warm.

“Henry, what do you mean when you said that you want me to be completely yours?” Amanda asked.

Henry paused. Amanda knew Henry more than she should. When he did not answer, it usually meant that he was not ready to answer her. He did not answer. So she did not press for it.

Amanda remembered how they first exchanged the four-letter word. He said it on a couple of occasions first, and when she responded verbally the first time, she freaked out for a bit hearing these words coming out of her mouth, so she went into retreat. She panicked and wanted to break it off. But she couldn’t. She did not do emotions well and it was more than she could handle at the time. It took her another six months to pronounce these words properly, first in a note card, written in pencil, erasable on purpose, then out loud. Henry knew that she could not be pushed. She was always more readily to commit sexually than emotionally. But Henry had his own ways. He planted seeds. Amanda somehow knew this was not going to be the only time she’d hear his request, to be his, completely. But she knew better to push it any further, in part, she already knew what Henry wanted.

Henry drove quietly on his way to drop Amanda off. He parked his car one block away and did not get out. Amanda got out of the car, all smiles, manufactured, perfected, smiles.  She had produced a small multi-use grocery bag. In the bag there were some bananas, several purple potatoes, a bundle of leeks. She waved a quick goodbye and headed down the street, at the end of the street sat a gray looking mid century house, with the door painted uncharacteristically red. She took one last look at Henry, and his car, and waved at his general direction. Then Henry was gone, with his green Audi, with his request of Amanda becoming completely his, still lingering in her mind.

Amanda fumbled for keys in front of the house, just then the door opened. Two girls in ballet tights and red t-shirts jumped out of the door, and a dark tall shadow approaching the door as well. The girls were ecstatic to see her. “Mom, guess what? We both got into the Nutcracker. Dad is taking us for ice cream. You coming?”

If I told you, would you believe me?

If I told you,  would you believe me?

I had this weird dream about you the other day, we were at a Greek restaurant, and we sat at the counter, and we ate silently, soundlessly, no exchange of words, no squeeze of hands, no expression of awe, as we often did, back in the day, when we were always in awe, of our state of existence, our togetherness, our synchronicity, and our affection for each other. When we finished our meal, at the counter, we got up, like two civilized acquaintances, an across between a colleague and a friend. As usual, you put on my coat, you were always the only one who put on my coat, not out of politeness, but out of instinctual adoration. I asked you, "Would I write about this? Would I remember this? Would you remember this? Is this how we part?" You forced a smile, and there were some genuine tears behind those glasses. I extended my left hand, trying to wipe those tears away, you grabbed it whilst it's in mid-air, and you said, "No, don't." Your hand that grabbed mine was firm, and the grip was so tight that it hurt me. I dropped my left hand, defeated and saddened by your refusal.

We were leaving for the train. More accurately, you were leaving for the train. I was simply following you. You had a train to catch and you were late for it. "Would I see you again?  Would I be held by you again?" I buried these thoughts as I chased after you, while your hastened steps imprinting the white snow. You did not like being late. I was always the late one.

Acela Express, 3.5 hours from New York to Boston. I saw a bit of a gray hair, as you put on your hat.

"Is this how we part?" I asked again.

You squeezed my hand, as you always did, and you said, "bye, sweetie" and stepped onto the train.

How far north must one travel to see the northern lights? I always liked the northern lights. I had another vision many months ago, and I wrote about how we would grow old together, watching the northern lights after an early supper.

"I’m finally gray, and you are finally frail, we are not saying anything; we need not say anything. Footprints are slowly forming on the snow-covered walk. You know I have always loved you. And this is the end of the road." I wrote that once. It was my declaration of love to you. Though I've never told you so.

You'd soon turn 50. I had prepared a speech before the meal, before you put on my coat and before you stepped onto the train, and I had wanted to tell you - "Perhaps it's finally time for us to go away for a weekend. It would be nice. Just the two of us, without anyone else." I never got a chance to ask that question. The air was cold and the mood was somber.  The end was near and it was not the one I had hoped for.

When I woke up from it, I stared at the ceiling for a long while and I wondered what I'd do if you existed, what if you were not just a figment of my imagination, does epic love exist, would we ever go to a Greek restaurant and eat at the counter?

If you did exist, and if I did tell you this story, would you believe me?