Old Lust Like New Love

We’ve changed. As we’re lying there, and he’s still sleeping, and morning is slipping in between the walls and into this otherwise dark room. I know it’s true: we’ve changed. Me, still wrapped up in him, but it’s not like it was years ago. It’s different today. Softly, he is sleeping, and I am pushing my way into my waking moments, here, with him.

This used to all feel so fragile; he was always so fleeting. He was always a mystery to me, elusive and just out of reach. I don’t know who I was to him, but here we are, and now it’s been years. I’ve woken up next to him like this on and off for years now. Which feels like too long to feel like this, but things are different. I’d like to think that things are better, but only the retrospect of time will reveal if that’s true or not. It’s good right now. It feels good to be here now. And who knows when it will start hurting again, but it won’t hurt like it did when I first met him. It will be a different hurt, a strange, new type of pain. A quiet pain, because we are quiet now. When years ago it was visceral and thrilling. We used to be so fast and so fucked up together. Now we are here sleeping, side by side, like everything is alright. There is no more yelling or running away. He looks at me with both eyes, and he sees me. When years ago all I could do was look away.

I wonder if this is the best it will ever be for us, or is this the worst? To be close like this and quiet. I am not drunk and yammering. He is not coked up and dysfunctional. We are both here, and this is the closest to normal that we have ever been, and I wonder: is that a good thing? Or will we get choked up on normalcy because that is something neither of us can ever really truly possess.

He hangs onto me in the night when he sleeps, and I refuse to let go, either. The only feeling I feel when I am with him is happiness, and when he is gone, I am back to the waiting room of the rest of my life, which creeps by slowly and is filled with my mundane reality while I perch on the edge of my seat, waiting for him to call. Waiting for him to come.