Most of the peeps who follow this or my trailing comments on the Golden Venus' site already know he's a Libra, which in and of itself, isn't as promising as it seems. They're beautiful, fickle, mortally frightened of depth, often fragile and unable to articulate their deepest unhappiness. Sure they'll complain about how the picture isn't quite symmetrical, or why for goodness sake there's yet another mark on the wall, but all the things that make their insides snap will hardly ever be addressed.
So it is odd for me, one so in touch with almost every imperceptible feeling in those around me, to be involved with someone so clearly invested in avoiding his. Or at least, used to be.
When we tell stories of the men we.. care for (easy there), they become iconic. Romantic figures that reality has difficulty living up to and when disappointment springs as it inevitably does, it's disturbing to see gold and ash side by side. It hardly makes sense. As women, we are involved in this sharing, because we are built for love. We would have to be to put up with everything. I remember unwrapping my first piece of Baci in Melbourne to have a sliver of paper slip out that said in both Italian and English, "When love is right, all is right." How true. For women at least.
I am still in the grip of a terrible bargain I made when I fled the Sewer, as I've just concurred elsewhere in the blog's comment section, it's not easy to leave. Even when it's the best thing for you.
For me, giving up on that epic struggle meant I had to accept the desolation of the unknown. There are wounds we gain so deep, it is not a guess to say they will never completely heal. These are the doors that open to nowhere, which we end up occasionally visiting. Doors to desert places where nothing lives and we are greeted by a merciless wind that cuts the skin, gashes filled by sand and the thirst of hell itself.
I describe it this way because like it or not, that place still lives in me. But not when B is around. While the salve is momentary and the relief only there as long as he is, I've learned not to be greedy and just leave it. I have no idea what everything means to him, he hardly ever says - B adopts a strongly Fabian Strategy I've gathered. But I cannot assign more or less to him, and only describe the effect he leaves behind.
So finally, I saw him again and after the Serb, he soothed me. Like again, there was water. And again, I could taste real things. The difference between sweet and sour.
How it all plays out, I have no idea. All I know is, I am in the terrible place of admitting that all the things I felt for him since last summer isn't some fevered post trauma fabrication.
I thought it was. But unfortunately for me, it isn't.