Three short years

An anniversary. Three years since I held so tightly to the bookcase so that I wouldn’t shake. Three years since I dared say “I think we’ve gone past friendship.” And then oh so quick look of delight in your eyes as you said.. “yes.”

We’re people that live in our heads, not our hearts. For the month before, we’d watch movies, take walks, and talk, always talking. All at a proper distance and always so careful to remain friends. After the moment at the bookcase, when we sit across from each other, we talk again about how we got to this point. Still in our heads when our hearts are what matters now. And finally I ask if I can hold your hand. Without knowing it, I’d been admiring your fingers and squared off nails and the hair along the back of your hands leading to your arms. So close and yet, not touched. and now this small act becomes possible. What becomes ‘us’ becomes possible.

Being close is both hard and easy. The closeness is what we wanted and never dared to expect. And now, here it is and it’s easy and intense and feels so right. For days I cannot think straight. I am locked between a home where I am despised and a space with you where I am free and loved and cared for. With you I find the closeness I had hoped for all these years and never found. Trust had left my marriage so long before that I can not believe my luck in finding you.

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Christmas Party 2015. I love this picture of us together

We struggle through getting close to each other step by step. Time gives us meals, events, vacation, meeting family, holidays to negotiate. And the kids. Three teenagers on one side and on yours a much easier son spreading his wings. And always the ex, the ghost who lives under my roof. The one that only the law will see gone. It takes 18 months until he’s gone. Finally we can officially share a home. It’s such a pleasure to live with you, I’m always surprised how short its actually been. It feels like this has been us from the start.

Through it all, each and every day, you are my joy. Holding your hand is still a thrill. Your grey eyes and soft voice bring me home again every time. When I disappoint you, it hurts. I don’t want to hurt you – ever. And yet, we are who we are and for most of our lives we’ve been leading another life. We are independent and very much together. These small tears in the fabric of our days are also part of life. The healing is swift. Forgiveness fast. And then I’m swept near you for a hug, a kiss. And my world is right again. I am good in your arms. And then its up to me to tell you once again how wonderful you are. I remind you of all the parts of you that make up the whole of you that I want to share each and every moment with for much much longer than just – three years.

Thank you.

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About Pamela Schure

I love technology and how real humans interact with it. Improving anything, and especially businesses is the space I love to work in. I share a home with three teenagers with varying degrees of US memories who mostly use UK words and live with me in a haze of pubescent angst and hormones.
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