On an Airplane in Denver (April 2017)

When you’ve loved someone for almost 30 years, it’s hard to shake the feeling of anticipation in seeing them for the next time. I know he says “puppy love.” But it’s like I told my daughter, you will never love as hard and as fiercely as you do when you are a teenager. And, I can honestly say that not a day has gone by since I was 14, that I haven’t thought about him. He’s always been so unreachable. I’ve been with someone else. He’s been with someone else. It was best for us to remain disconnected.

I know there is danger in this weekend but I’m going anyway. I know I should guard my heart, but, I’m not programmed that way. I can’t separate my heart from my “head.” I’m an all or nothing kind of girl (unless you are a random guy — one-night stand — and I can count on two fingers — maybe three — okay four — the number of times that has happened). I cannot separate the emotion and the action. And I’m not apologizing to myself or anyone else for that. I refuse to change who I am to fit in someone’s idea of what I need to be (in bed or out of bed). I am done with that.

I probably need to stop doing this — every 10 years. I know that he’s probably using me (and I’m going willingly). I don’t mean that as a “dig” at him. I know his heart is broken. We’ve both been dealt a pretty shitty hand when it comes to love and life in a lot of ways. Not that there haven’t been things that went well for each of us— but let’s face it — neither of us has had any easy go of things.

This is probably not the smartest thing I’ve done. And I should probably protect my heart but there is always something that sucks me back in with him. The promise or possibility of something more . . . usually ending in a long-weekend and then a 10 year stretch before we see each other again.

So I’m ordering a glass of wine on the flight and listening to my Spotify Playlist. I’m all in regardless of how it works out. Friends. Lovers. Temporary. Permanent. Whatever.

If I close my eyes, I can see him sneaking out of the front door of my parent’s house. Making out in my childhood bedroom. Writing him letters and sending him cards when he moved to Nashville. Telling me at my Senior Prom that I had no rhythm. Driving up north way too fast in his car. The look on his face when we sat in the bar in Chicago. Walking on Navy Pier. The elevator in the hotel. Making love in his bedroom under a blue ceiling in Belmont barely coming up for air. Pissing me off with some comment — he’s always been brutally honest with me. He knows all my tells — when my voice changes — when my heart hurts — what I’m thinking.

Maybe in some crazy way we can help each other. Heal each other. What it all means right now probably doesn’t matter much. Two people needing this in the right space, the right time. Is there ever a right space and time though? Maybe the right space is just the present and savoring every moment you have in that time.

If I’ve learned anything it’s that life and time are precious. Fleeting. I tell people I love them because I am never going to risk taking the chance that I’ll leave this earth without them knowing.