In the course of the last three years or so, I’ve been in love with three very different men. One lasted for 2 years. One lasted for 6 months. And the last one lasted for one day.
The two year relationship was with a lovely, gentle, smart, sweet, sane, stable man. Funny and communicative and romantic. But he wasn’t the marrying type and he wasn’t ready to share his home and his future. And to be fair, I saw him as “safe” … warm and loving and a decent man that I could spend the rest of my days with and feel glad. That’s not so bad … but it was not meant to be and in the end it was not the grand Love that I’ve opened my heart and my dreams too. So I think we’re both better off and we both still care about each other, and that is nice.
The next guy was the hammer drop. The bell that went off inside me that said “this man will be important”. And he was. Passionate and creative and not afraid to say that he loved me and wanted to be with me. I loved him terribly. He made my knees go weak. But he was broken, broken in terrible ways that were not his fault but had become his way. And that way led to abuse and that is not love.
The last one was magic. For one day.
We met at the airport bar as I was leaving for a vacation to Hawaii. There was a 3 hour delay. I took the only empty barstool and in my peripheral vision, I could see a man so beautiful that I was afraid to look at him straight on.
But introductions were made, simple enjoyable easy conversation was had, and as the hours passed, we learned we liked each other. Time flew by, the plane was boarding, we got into separate lines, but every time I turned around, I could see him looking for me .. and when he would find me in the crowd, he would smile.
Separated by a curtain and seating snobbery (I had used miles to take my first ever 1st Class trip), he would come up to visit me over and over again throughout the flight. He’d crouch in the aisle and we’d talk for the time we had, our faces growing closer and closer together. Until it occurred to me that he wanted to kiss me … and I wanted to kiss him so badly that I knew I shouldn’t dare. So I’d pull back and we’d smile and laugh and he’d go away again … only to return.
Finally, when the flight was almost over, I decided it was my turn to go find him. I started walking back towards his seat, and there he was walking up the aisle towards me. We came together near the galley and without a word fell into each others’ arms and started kissing. Kissing bliss. Taking flight thousands of feet up in the air.
He found me again at baggage claim, and we decided to continue to spend time together. I invited him to my hotel. He lived on the other side of the island. He’d been gone for two months, and had spent two days getting home (from Europe). He wanted to drop off his luggage and take a shower. I completely understood, but I was quite sure that would be the last of him. One look at his own bed after all that time … and there would be a polite text or call saying “maybe some other time”.
20 minutes after I had gotten into my limo (yes, I ordered a limo to go with my 1st Class ticket … why not … this was *my* vacation) I got a phone call saying he was on his way.
[Side Note and Yes, this is Geographically Prejudiced … to the heterosexual male population of San Francisco … y’all could really learn a lesson or two. You with your arrogant attitude just because you’re a small fish in a small dating pool. A man, a confident man, a kind man, a man who means what he says and says what he means, and a man who communicates consistently and honestly … how refreshing … I would have done anything for him. It was grown up, sexy, smart, fun, and all too rare.]
The rest is private and for me, legendary. He proved to be as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside. We talked for hours, we drank champagne, we spent time together … and in the morning, he left. We were to have dinner together that night, but his life and work called to him after those 2 months away. And though we never saw each other again for the time I was there, he wrote or called me nearly every day.
After I had left the island and returned home, after we had talked about seeing each other at the next visit, I wrote to him. A very clean and open letter. I asked, now that “island fever” had passed and I was thousands of miles away, if he would do me the gentlemanly kindness of telling me if there was anything there for us to explore. Tell me or let me off the hook was the message. I got a reply. It was not the one I had hoped for, but it was a sweet, brave, honest, kind reply.
I cried for a bit. Why wouldn’t I? But I had a reason to celebrate, to have had the reminder that I could draw something that was beautiful, that I could be reminded that it still exists … out there … somewhere.
He is a beautiful man, and he was a gift. And I loved him … for one day.
And now there are none. I feel sad but remain hopeful. I lie in bed and let the moonlight shine on me and I still feel that there is magic. There are stars, and there *is* love. It may not be for me, not everyone gets to reach the stars … but it sure is nice to know that they are up there shining.