I dream of an ex.
One that I was never fully committed to – he was afraid of love. Yet, I loved him and together we set off to discover the world and our selves. Countless nights wrapped in each other’s arms, before finally I found the courage – encouraged by a blissful combination of Tantra and pure Ecstasy – the courage to tell him “I love you”. He spoke the words back to me, in a sweaty, love-filled haze. But the next day, he took them back, as though the experience was something he’d foolishly bought before realising he didn’t want it and had kept his receipt just in case.
When we returned to home lands, we parted ways, with an unspoken knowing that our journey across oceans and across each other’s bodies had ended. Yet the journey through my emotions had not. And for years I felt the entanglement that comes with great love and separation.
We saw each other again, one more time, one year on. My body responded in a way I had not known before. I felt his heart meet mine as they exploded simultaneously in our chests. Every connection that had formed during our time together, instantly sparked back to life. The pieces of ourselves that we carved from each other, slotted perfectly back together, like a piece of ceramic that has cracked cleanly into pieces. The shape still revealed, easy to put back in place because the edges are so clean. However, there was no longer joy, intrigue and happiness between us. Instead it was mystery and darkness.
A few months later, he was expecting a child.
A few months later, he explained to me that for the wellbeing of his family and him self, he must cease communication with me, and blocked me on facebook to ensure the final tie was severed.
He came to me in my dream last night, as old lovers often do. He explained that I was “too much” for him when we had parted ways, that he could feel my longing and lust and love. Too strong, too much, too intense. But now… Now he loves me. He wants to caress my body and my mind. He wants to put together all those broken pieces… Yet time has worn down the edges of my pieces that were carved by him. Those same pieces no longer have sharp edges that only fit with his. The corners have become round and smooth and the pieces have fallen into other cracks and crevices along the way.
Still, there is a joy in knowing this feeling from him again, a satisfaction, a rekindling of curiosity.
Then I wake.
The pieces fall away.
And I remember, each time they fall, it’s easier to let them go…