I’ve had the fortune of falling in love with a man who is a wanderer. He dreams of far away places and languages and new ways of living and looking at the world. My own wandering spirit is drawn to daydreams of places, and so I do not fault him for that. In fact, I love him for it. We frequently talk about the human experiences that one must have while on this earth–travel is one of them. However, this dynamic means that we are together, apart, together, apart, and together again. A less romantic view, may interpret this as two very frightened people, who are pushing each other away as hard as we possibly can.
It’s the kind of relationship built on heady reunions, longing, and then space and silence to write, and look very closely at my surroundings, followed by more longing, and more heady reunions. This has been going on for seven years and counting. I doubt this is the end. In between the longing and reuniting, I sometimes date, and probably will again, and maybe even fall in love, and have some entirely new experience. I think that’s the point.
Recently, it has become clear to us than an unraveling is imminent. I have my doubts about what that means and what we’re doing. For sure we’re just two idiots fumbling in the dark, twisted in the sheets, and searching for a light switch. What is less clear is whether or not two people can ever really be anything besides that. The key is to enjoy the searching and the fumbling, which I do, especially when it is with him, who is so beautiful that it hurts. I am in love, and I am heartbroken to be sure.