He sat there on the sofa, one foot on top of the other knee, looking over at me with this grin on his face and an excitement in his eyes. He had just come in and sat down for the first time, getting his bearings in my tiny apartment, looking around and soaking in the taste of my decor. We poured a glass of wine, and sat there across from each other, sipping it.
I was nervous. Maybe because it was the first time he was in my home, maybe because it was him or because I was afraid he would not think much of my tiny post-separation and pre-divorce apartment.
He asked me about the massage table that I had out on my enclosed porch, asked if I were a licensed massage therapist. I laughed nervously and said no, it’s just that I’ve received hundreds of spa treatments, that after a while, I felt as if I should be licensed. So, I bought a table several years ago and began to give massages, realizing that I actually had a knack for it.
He then asked me how I’d acquired that many spa treatments in a lifetime, as he had never himself been to a spa. So I began to tell my story, in detail, about my brief employment at a large five-star spa. How I’d been moved around in various positions, ending up in marketing that had me clock in each day, get a spa treatment or two, and then sell them. How the spa even provided me with exorbitant amounts of product so that I could sample at home and sell those as well.
As I told my story, I watched his look. He was lost in my face, my expressions, and my hand motions. He looked at me adoringly and at some moments, I wondered if he were even listening to me at all.
After a brief pause when my story was finished, he tilted his head and told me that he loved the way I told him that story. With detail that helped him envision things, excitement in my voice, helping him imagine being there.
Then he got up, walked up to me, and embraced me. Then he guided his hand behind my neck, to gently touch the tips of his fingers to the left side of my face, and he kissed me ever so gently. This incredible kiss escalated. This was the kiss that caused all my emotions to unravel in tenderness, melting in his arms. The kiss that frightened me because then I would be vulnerable to him, and he could hurt me, and he knew it. The kiss that I now hated my divorce for because I had to dive in and do it, but at the same time was elated about because I hadn’t been kissed like that ever before. That wonderful and unbelievable kiss, that he gifted me that night. If only I could go back to that moment, back to many moments with him.
I miss him terribly. Now I am left with that ache for him, that longing to have him look at me that same way, kiss me again, to hold him and have him hold me, to fall asleep and wake up in his arms. To run my fingers up and down his back or his arm as we welcome a new day together and lie in bed and talk, having morning tea together. So I allow the sadness and emptiness to fill me. But at the same time, I allow his love to fill me too. How one person can have such an immense impact on feelings I’ll never know. Sometimes I hate myself for allowing that to happen, yet I am so grateful that it happened, if anything to show me that I could feel that again. To show me that someone else could feel that for me again, even if perceived. So there it is. I am worthy of love, it is worthy of me, and it will find me again.
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