I miss you, love. I long for you so much, sensually, sexually and emotionally. Knowing that you are not lacking for great, wonderful connection, sex, love, and intimacy, makes me deeply happy, and soothes my heart. Yours lovingly,
This is my current blessed reality. I am a world apart from my beloved, and I miss her dearly, and she is missing me dearly, but I at least know she is not a woman starving for the sex, love, and bliss we have a preference in common for living and being. Leaving her and the country behind for upwards of half a year abroad would have been horrible, were it not for knowing she will not starve or go into the deepest recesses of abstinence in my absence. In a way, almost the opposite is happening — as her other lover, who is somewhat less cut from the cloth of polyamory than myself, is really blossoming in the best possible way, for her and himself both. Not as a service to me — that is just a sweet side benefit of them loving and wanting each other, as much as we do.
I was reflecting on the sadder side of stereotypical images of romantic love, laced with portraits of passionate jealousy — that sad trade-in for ownership of your feelings — heralded as modeled and lusted-for behaviour for healthy relationships — as a proof of the strength of the love of your beloved. Not, as I think it ought to be seen, as evidence for the weakness of their character or lack of ownership of and perspective on their feelings, and abilities of taking good, loving care of both themselves and you. I think we are ready for a new, better world, where nobody craves their beloved feeling jealous of them, as a crutch for the fear of losing their affection, of losing them for someone else, of being replaced and falling into that emptier place of mourning loneliness.
I would be lying if I said my heart doesn’t cringe at the thought of returning, finding her no longer wanting me in her life or still wanting me in it, but in a place where she chooses not to include me in it any more. And while it could happen, as surely as anything changes over time — no less when so far apart — I strongly believe that fearing it would rather help manifest that outcome, than hoping or believing that we will stay together. I do carry a Schrödinger of doubt — knowing what I can’t know, about what the future holds for us. I can feel the compassion with me for knowing I might have to rebuild my life in some entirely new way when I return — emotionally, sensually, sexually, practically — out of entirely new pieces and people. Live an entirely different life from the one I left behind, just three months ago. It is scary. But even in that place of potential loss, my love and beloved would at least grant me the core happiness of knowing she is loving herself as fully as she can, whether I am participating in that love or not. That rich life I want for her, and myself — whether we are doing it together — with each other — or by ourselves, and with others.
I think this is a much richer romantic notion to crave, praise, model, and manifest, for ourselves, and our loved ones, in life, and in children’s books, Disney movies, romantic comedies, life sitcoms, tabloids, and elsewhere. It begins with the stories we tell, and it happens, within the stories we believe.