Tuesday, 1 June 2010

"I am so in love with you. You make me so happy I want to die."
I'm back... I fell in lust. A month ago, stumbling home together, lonely and drunk, he asked me to spend the night with him, just spooning, so the darkness wouldn't be quite so heavy. Three days later we had sex. The type I've never experienced before - you know - the kind where you laugh and in the morning all your muscles ache because you're quite sure you've made up some new moves even the karma surtra missed. I spent the next week crying, chain smoking, listening to Courtney Love grieving, and choking back the scream: why me. Then a week later it happened again - another mistake for him. I was just trying to make him come back. Then on election night, two nights after then, suddenly it didn't matter what it was, who I was to him, why I was doing it. We were having sex every day, twice a day, three times a day. I was late for everything and looked even more dishevelled than usual. Then one night, he whispered something so hoarsely I thought it was a hallucination: "I fucking love you." Nights, days, mornings, evenings, the floor, my desk, his desk, my bed, his bed blur. Again, I heard those words "I love you" and slowly they became his mantra until I felt it. And I feel it in the way he looks at me, the way his eyes sear through my flesh, the way he holds me after we have sex and in the scent of his skin.
He knows everything but this. He knows about the bulimia, the anorexia, the self-hatred, the loathing, the casual cruelty. He's seen them all. All the demons. And he's still here.