(no subject)
My mother's advice when it came to our fight was to spend the weekend nesting. To gain a Stepford complex, to be a homemaker. And even though I didn't take her advice, because frankly I'm just not that girl, everything is better now. It's all back to normal.
Yes, yes, everything is back to normal. Except that he is absolutely dying of the flu. Last night he slept on the couch while we were watching the Simpsons, and I started whispering secrets to him. When Family Guy started, I stopped talking and watched the show, but as soon as I moved my lips from his ear and silenced my crazed murmurs he started tossing and turning and so I kept on confiding in him, tiny things that I keep as secrets just for us. Little secrets, like how profoundly and totally in love with him I am. And how when I'm with him I feel like nothing bad could ever happen, and that everything I used to think about, all those silly, trivial, painful things I went through before seem as far away as the football games at someone else's college. It's all over now, and I am done with it, and I have grown up and matured and even though it's scary, I think I might hang on to this feeling for a long time.
On being a grownup: I have separated myself from the people and things that were holding me back and dragging me down and I'm proud of it. My sister is out of my life forever, and my days of staying at the bar long past last call are over. I have dreams, goals, a future planned out. He's part of all of it; we want the same things. There will come a day when we open the doors of a tiny Boite restaurant and show our family and friends what the opening menu will be, and then soon after that we will show Boston what it truly is to dine, not just to eat. Some day I'll see our daughter graduate from Winsor in a white dress, on the fields by the tetherball, and whatever buildings they will have added to the school by then and whatever changes they will have made will seem unimportant when I walk in and see that the Seniors still paint their homeroom every year. Some day I'll be surrounded by two other Winsor women and two girls from my other worlds while I stand, all nerves and Lolita perfume and whiteness, just outside the threshold of the rest of my life.
I think that might be where I'm standing at the moment, to be honest. Just outside the threshold. He talked in his sleep last night, every time I paused to take a breath, just talked talked talked and I know he doesn't remember what he said to me on that couch. But he reminded me that he loves me, and clenching up his face he practiced saying something that on Thursday I worried he would never actually get a chance to say. I am so happy these days that sometimes when I think about how much I love him I actually want to cry. I almost do. They would be tears of relief, really, relief that I finally let my guard down, albeit for half a moment, a millisecond really, but apparently long enough for the most amazing person in the entire world to slip in undetected.
I only wish we could just be together always. Flesh on flesh, even if it's just two fingers loosely linked, or my ear to his chest listening to his heartbeat. That is when I know that he is real, and that he can't be taken away from me, and that I really will be with him for the rest of my natural (and even, possibly, unnatural) life.
nsrsly
Yes, yes, everything is back to normal. Except that he is absolutely dying of the flu. Last night he slept on the couch while we were watching the Simpsons, and I started whispering secrets to him. When Family Guy started, I stopped talking and watched the show, but as soon as I moved my lips from his ear and silenced my crazed murmurs he started tossing and turning and so I kept on confiding in him, tiny things that I keep as secrets just for us. Little secrets, like how profoundly and totally in love with him I am. And how when I'm with him I feel like nothing bad could ever happen, and that everything I used to think about, all those silly, trivial, painful things I went through before seem as far away as the football games at someone else's college. It's all over now, and I am done with it, and I have grown up and matured and even though it's scary, I think I might hang on to this feeling for a long time.
On being a grownup: I have separated myself from the people and things that were holding me back and dragging me down and I'm proud of it. My sister is out of my life forever, and my days of staying at the bar long past last call are over. I have dreams, goals, a future planned out. He's part of all of it; we want the same things. There will come a day when we open the doors of a tiny Boite restaurant and show our family and friends what the opening menu will be, and then soon after that we will show Boston what it truly is to dine, not just to eat. Some day I'll see our daughter graduate from Winsor in a white dress, on the fields by the tetherball, and whatever buildings they will have added to the school by then and whatever changes they will have made will seem unimportant when I walk in and see that the Seniors still paint their homeroom every year. Some day I'll be surrounded by two other Winsor women and two girls from my other worlds while I stand, all nerves and Lolita perfume and whiteness, just outside the threshold of the rest of my life.
I think that might be where I'm standing at the moment, to be honest. Just outside the threshold. He talked in his sleep last night, every time I paused to take a breath, just talked talked talked and I know he doesn't remember what he said to me on that couch. But he reminded me that he loves me, and clenching up his face he practiced saying something that on Thursday I worried he would never actually get a chance to say. I am so happy these days that sometimes when I think about how much I love him I actually want to cry. I almost do. They would be tears of relief, really, relief that I finally let my guard down, albeit for half a moment, a millisecond really, but apparently long enough for the most amazing person in the entire world to slip in undetected.
I only wish we could just be together always. Flesh on flesh, even if it's just two fingers loosely linked, or my ear to his chest listening to his heartbeat. That is when I know that he is real, and that he can't be taken away from me, and that I really will be with him for the rest of my natural (and even, possibly, unnatural) life.
nsrsly