-This is the story of me and Mr. X, my other great love, before the narcissist.-
God had played the most brutal of jokes on me. I was shattered. Returning home from the train, it seemed like nothing mattered anymore. I had been given the love of my life. No, not given. It had been dangled.. in front of my eyes, for eighteen months, just enough time for me to learn what I would be missing, when it ended.
When thinking about this more deeply, I understood. Since I’d already known for so long, that my soul was more than a thousand years old, I knew what this was. Another test of my endurance, my patience, my ability to live through most anything. I knew these tests, from the last millenium. What I didn’t know was, what they were for? I figured it must be something awfully important, if it had to shatter a soul hundreds of times, throughout the centuries. The ancient spirit side in me, whispered in the dark, that this was nothing compared to what I’d been through, in the historical battles.
But, the human side of me, laying alone in bed in the dark, wept for all that was lost. The human side of me knew only that this was the first love like this, in twenty-six years on this earth, and it was lost…
It did not take too many days until he called. Mr. X told me he didn’t feel right about this. He asked if he could come visit. Even if I had wanted to scold him, yell, be angry, I had no energy for that. My heart ran amok and I could only whisper a faint: Yes…
I remember flashes and glimpses of this visit. My apartment was a bit outside the big city. The afternoon light falling sideways into my apartment was filtered by giant oak trees, turning it golden and green. Since I had not been back to my apartment for very long, it was not equipped with the normal furniture; it basically had a brown, antique secretary desk from the 1800’s, with my computer on top of it, tarnishing its reputation, a bed on the floor, simply the thick mattress, without a frame and bed legs… Lots of candle holders everywhere, too. When mr. X came up to visit me, barely a week after that fateful phone call, I had lit all the candles in my tiny apartment. That, and the glow from the afternoon light, made everything in there warm and golden.
We couldn’t really speak. We were too hungry for the closeness, the week apart had meant starvation, for both of us wolves… He sat down in the chair in front of my computer. We listened to some songs, including the one you have seen here..
I found that song so appropriate, since none of us could steer or control ourselves worth a damn. We were in a fog, trembling hands and eyes blinded by the haze of the desperate desire that arises when lovers who are meant to be together, are separated. I sat down on mr. X:s lap, which was natural, while we listened to the music. I could hear that we were both struggling to breathe. I suddenly wanted to cry, noticing that he had made the effort to arrange his hair just how I liked it, in the old filmstar fashion. No one in the world could now possibly be more Scarlett O’Hara, than me.
There was no question as to how to the night would end. I was so glad that mr. X was the first and only one to make love to me in that apartment. Anyone else would have been simply… wrong. It was him, there was no one else in my universe. Still, I did not want to pressure him, considering his tortured face the last time I had seen him. So I simply lived moment to moment that weekend. I cooked some good food, we had cold champagne in a warm bath. I became the person I was when I first met him; relaxed, loving, passionate, kind. I thought; if he doesn’t love my innermost, beautiful core, he will never love me, no matter what.
There was a veil over his eyes that whole weekend; it was as if his clear green eyes, had been swept in the mists of a summer meadow.
It was like he was there, but had no control of himself. When we heard the song “Lovestoned” together, I knew that’s what he was. He had come, not by choice, but necessity. Like the bee to the flower, purely by survival instinct. Mr. X had as little control now, as that first night when we had met. He had now told his core wounds of abandonment, to go to hell. That was an encouraging thought, as my heart had no choice either; it had to love him, by some laws unknown to me. I remember laying next to him, after trembling, utterly insane love-making, out of this world, where I had locked his eyes into mine, and not let go for the whole time… Afterwards, we both had to catch our breath, on that simple bed, in my Spartan room.
I had to lay my hand on my chest, to hold the flooding of emotions at bay, upon seeing him so serene, as he closed his eyes, his hand still clutched in mine. In that moment, I knew. He still loved me.
Sunday afternoon came suddenly, from nowhere, and he packed up his car for the long drive home. Things still were not decided, verbally or formally, but I had no worries anymore. I watched him drive off, in his cherry red car. Still to this day, this image is etched into my head; the oak trees all bowing down in the wind, to bid their friend farewell, my eyes following the movement of the car. I can still remember all the letters and numbers of the license plate, despite all the years that have gone by.
A surge of longing stirred in my stomach, as he left. But I knew. I knew he’d be back again. I had seen it in his face. He was lovestoned. Again. Just like that first night…
To Be Continued….