The everlasting lover

It’s 8am and I’m standing in front of the man I love, even though he looks like a younger version of Dustin Hoffman in pot. He had on the linen shirt, the white one with hints of stale tobacco crumbs from last month. He was also wearing the skinny black pant, those that looked like Robert Plant puked on them twice before someone found it and unenthusiastically put it to sell on EBay. His unpolished sandy hair that constantly needed trimming peeked through his ears as usual. His lack of modesty in his attire-choosing was not unusual, but this morning, it was extreme. And although he looked like he just woke up from a bad hangover, he was awake alright.

“You said what?!” he gawked.

“I said I just can’t do this, I can’t go through with it, I am just—” and I stood quietly as I indulged myself in his profound stare of amusement. Then, I continued while rambling across the room in hopes of ambushing my nerves –an almost impossible task, “it is you, I cannot go through with it knowing you’re less than half an hour away from me, and that you’ll be there, and that I’ll see you perhaps at the grocery store, or at the mall, or at Jimmy’s. I cannot walk a married woman knowing that I may encounter the man I love anywhere at any second. God, thinking about it just makes me anxious! Why is my rationality at failure! I really thought I could do this, repress my emotions at the sight of distress and anxiety because I know it is not right to be with you. Oh lord, and it is even less right, sacrilegiously at its least… to love you. And I will never forgive myself for that. I don’t understand, I really don’t deserve this kind of punishment. It is–”

“Honey.” He held my right hand and entwined his fingers in mine. I glared at his eyes; I had forgotten how gorgeous they were, not because of their color, but because of the thousand emotions they blurted in just a few millimeters of space.

Our faces were pulled close to each other. So close, I could smell that unbearably beautiful smell of his. Oh, how I had forgotten his smell: no cologne, just human flesh working wonders for the senses in a way I could not particularly put to words. Tears crawled down my eyes and I whispered, “It is the thought of your existence that makes every bit of me shiver; knowing that I am with someone else while you exist is something I could not tolerate, yet being with you is something I could never forgive myself for.”

His hands made their way to my neck and then to my face. He did this thing in which he put his hands on my eyes to calm me down while gently closing my lids as they met his palms.

“I love you,” he murmured.

Tears strolled down my eyes, and tears strolled down his eyes too. We stayed in each other’s embrace neither of us saying a word. And in all the impurity I had felt while with him, this had been the purest moment of my life. I could feel his tobacco breath in my forehead.

I knew him too well to understand his ‘I love you’ was a goodbye, and his touch was the valediction. I needed nothing more than that. We stayed a few moments in each other’s grip after I opened my eyes. My corrupted wedding gown had become a symbol of repression. I began to walk away from him, still staring at his watered eyes from the distance. I pulled up my gown to lurch with more comfort until finally holding the knob and turning it slowly, giving my last look back.

“I love you too,” I mouthed, closing the door. As I walked away and tears blurted down my eyes, I noticed a new stain of tobacco on my wedding gown.

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