When he kisses me I taste his soul, I feel him course through my veins and I’m blinded. Unable to focus on anything else other than my lust for him, I crave the feeling of his body against mine.
I spend a week by his side and although every night ends with complete satisfaction my lust for him never diminishes. I wonder when we will tire of one other. I know at any moment it could be over; either one of us could call it off. Maybe that’s part of the reason our passion is so intense; because we both know it could be fleeting. There is no certainty, and with that lack of security we fuck like each time could be our last.
My first night home in a week stirring at 3:30am I search for him, my fingers pull at the sheets unable to find the warmth of his body. I awake to realize I went to bed alone. It’s an unsettling feeling realizing I am beginning to get used to sharing my bed, maybe even preferring it.
I find my way back into his bed. He holds me in his arms as he tells me that although he has feelings for me, he can control them better than I can. He loves me as a friend but nothing more. Rendered speechless each word gets caught in my throat as he tries to draw me out. Unable to make sense of my thoughts I can feel myself pulling away from him, my chest hardens as my body rushes to form cement.
He tells me to focus more on his actions rather than his words; but the two differ and change so frequently I can hardly keep up.
Maybe he is just as unsure and confused by his feelings as I am with mine. It’s a constant battle between knowing the timing is terrible and being with someone who you have an intense connection with and makes you a better person. I know if we tried to make it work, to really be with one another right now, it would probably be too affected by everything that’s going on around us.
Maybe that’s just an excuse, maybe we are both to scarred from our pasts. But he has become so much more than just a lover. He has become one of my best friends and I know above all else we just want one another to be happy; even if that means being apart.
Or are they all right, am I simply just a substitute? Someone to warm his bed and whisper secrets when he craves affection. Someone to give him all that needs, all that he lacked from his previous relationship, to act as the girlfriend only when required and then discarded and disregarded.
No, I don’t think so. It would be easier for me to think that way, to write him off as using me. It would be much easier to brand him the asshole he claims himself to be. But the truth is in the way he pushes me to grow as a better person. The truth is in the way he notices every detail, the way he tries to draw our every thought, every emotion I try to keep concealed. It’s in the way we spend a week together and never tire or get frustrated with each other’s company.
He is not an asshole and I am not a substitute. Maybe we will never be able to define what we are to each other; maybe it will never make sense to those around us. But why do we really need a definition anyway. Give me undefined mind blowing, breath stopping, life altering confusion over a definition any day.