True Love For Ever & Ever

But the details, aye, indeed, the circumstances, aye! How complicated they were!

This time it was a case of a high Tenderness Required Quotient on my part and a low Tenderness Available Quotient on her part.

Why do I require so much affection? Probably because that little disagreement Moms and Pops had about how much oral satisfaction this son would be allowed. Funny how incidents long forgotten in their minds shape my entire life's search for companionship and love. Dear God, Cute.

Why so little tenderness available from my Love? Well, her secrets are not mine to give away -- let's just say rough childhood. She needs a lot more than she has to give. And to God of this outrage I cannot even speak, for He comes back at me with equal force, saying, "For you, my Son."

So when eventually my Love and I cross pathes, we are magnanimously attracted to each other. So much so that I happily and without regret end a marriage to another woman.

We spend three years as close as two people can physically put themselves, but still the distance between our hearts exists. And when I begin belaboring my desire for more closeness, she finds her best efforts insulted. She slips away from me as easily as she came near.

Some men call women whores. They stop at betrayal, and this leaves them tortured by anger. That she would promise everything, drain them of their nerve, and leave them alone with nothing but their love of her...well, it's easy to understand that feeling, isn't it?

Other men excuse all her behavior in face of their infinite love, but they are tortured by the limitations to which one can actually love a whore. So self-hate, insecurity, and weakness follow, and it's so easy to understand those feelings, isn't it?

I, however, can make no sense of it. I have been through all of that, and those feelings are not how I wish to cast or express my True Love.

If she and I were to talk, we would either be peace or we would make war. I am guilty of everything she could say about me, and she cannot ever know the dimensions of my love for her. There is no in-between, other than this aching distance.

Where does that leave us, as individuals?

Her? I cannot say. In fact, knowing any details crushes each piece of my shattered heart 1000 more times. Apparently, she is practicing gentleness with a new love. To consider that is like falling into an endless hole of blackness and despair. Instincts for self-preservation deny me from going there.

I am left abstract and apart: Loving shadows and memories. Loving glimpses and speculations. Loving living examples. Dialoguing with myself, with tenderness and longing. Looking. Hoping. And finding dreams to be the only reliable solution to a day of reality.

I have no understanding of my True Love. I am nothing but a vessel for it to express itself, and the audience member of my fascination has vacated my theater.