A time to cry

Today we reunited.
In my dream, we reunited.

This morning... the details are fuzzy... we were together, in bed, talking some, I don't remember... it was such a relief, I felt so whole...

I cried in the shower.
Today, I am crying.
Where he was there is only emptiness and pain.

I'm working very hard to remember other times... to remember that this really was the right decision... to remember that he himself knew he couldn't always protect me from the beast. To remember that to say "the beast" is to dangerously separate what is a part of HIM. A part he does not want to give up even if he could. Because he thrives on the thrill.

But I loved him.
I love him still, beneath the anger and the fear and...
the disappointment.

I think back to after... when he was done... when he had cum... when he sat back against the mounded pillow but this time without me cuddled against him. Without the softness. There was a thick wall between us. I think back to how he said he wasn't going to talk about it. To how he said he wouldn't apologize.

I knew he knew he ought to apologize.
I knew he wouldn't LET himself apologize.
It's his credo.
His own wall.
His declaration of superiority.

I wonder if he apologizes to the people in his other life.

The radio.
I had to turn off the radio.

They were speaking of searching for our missing half. Aristophanes in Plato's Symposium explaining that humans were once round, two halves together, male and male, female and female, and male and female. We pissed off Zeus, trying to scale Mount Olympus, and he blasted us in half. But we feel the emptiness, we ache for our missing part, we search to be reunited so we can once again and always feel whole.

He made me feel whole.
He taught me that I'm beautiful.
He demanded my worship but treasured me in exchange.

I cried in the shower.

~ ~ ~

I remind myself to be strong.
I remind myself that he's not going to change.
Even if he could, he never will change.
He doesn't want to change.
And that's his choice.

He has mellowed, though. I've seen that over time. He has mellowed. Mellowed, softened, matured. Or perhaps ... no. I won't speculate. I won't project onto him my own interpretations.

We both lost.

I miss him dreadfully.

The bruises on my body will be gone long before the pain of the loss.

~ ~ ~

I'm on Facebook, you know.
Or maybe you don't know.
As Oatmealgirl Author.

I have "friends" there, but no one comments unless I post a comment in response to someone else's post. Those of you who feel comfortable with having such a friend among your other friends are welcome to come by. Me, I keep a separate account under my legal name.

A separate account.
A separate name.
A separate life.

I may be strong.
But I don't feel whole.
No one knew me the way he did.
No one.
Ever.