Somewhere out there...
This morning I have a dislocated feeling of hunger for John's friendship. I want to send him funny cat pictures, videos, snippets from Wikipedia, anecdotes from my day. I want to be able to laugh together again with the animosity and violence cut out.
I don't know how we could ever function as friends. But I wish, I wish that we could. I don't miss the sex or the marriage; I miss the intimacy of sharing ourselves.
I had a dream last night that we were picnicking together on the soft green grass beside the Glenrock lagoon we used to visit for swimming in summer. We were talking about Buddhism and little birds kept stealing the crumbs from our sandwiches, and one of them sat on his shoulder and listened to us talking. I woke up and cried; I wanted the dream to expand further, to cover me like a heavy cloth, weighing me down gently. Not to diffuse, to unravel and let me go.
The best part was that in the dream, I wasn't afraid of him. The perfect trust was restored, like a limb grown back and healed over, a miraculous re-attachment. His words were soft; there was no "whore" or "slut" in his mouth. No agitation of the body, twitching towards hurt, barely restraining damages. Nothing lurked. There was only delicacy and tenderness, and acknowledgment of our separate selves, our mutual validity.
I hope this person in him exists, and maybe, if years allow it, if he heals, I can find it in him again. This entry is public for a purpose; a message in a bottle.
I don't know how we could ever function as friends. But I wish, I wish that we could. I don't miss the sex or the marriage; I miss the intimacy of sharing ourselves.
I had a dream last night that we were picnicking together on the soft green grass beside the Glenrock lagoon we used to visit for swimming in summer. We were talking about Buddhism and little birds kept stealing the crumbs from our sandwiches, and one of them sat on his shoulder and listened to us talking. I woke up and cried; I wanted the dream to expand further, to cover me like a heavy cloth, weighing me down gently. Not to diffuse, to unravel and let me go.
The best part was that in the dream, I wasn't afraid of him. The perfect trust was restored, like a limb grown back and healed over, a miraculous re-attachment. His words were soft; there was no "whore" or "slut" in his mouth. No agitation of the body, twitching towards hurt, barely restraining damages. Nothing lurked. There was only delicacy and tenderness, and acknowledgment of our separate selves, our mutual validity.
I hope this person in him exists, and maybe, if years allow it, if he heals, I can find it in him again. This entry is public for a purpose; a message in a bottle.