Friday, 29 September 2006

The heart never forgets

She's back!

I'd like to say "with a vengeance", but really I'm just plain ol' back.

But with curtains.
Not much of interest has happened for the last six weeks or so. I'm homesick. I want to move home. J doesn't (and who can blame him).

Sometimes, when things are hard, I dream of just taking all my savings, moving home and slumming it on my parents' floor for a week and then buying a house from the first and best real estate agent I can find (possibly my ex-boyfriend).

Or maybe just moving in with my ex-boyfriend. He's got a really nice flat with a stunning view of the ocean.

A while ago I had a dream. I was standing in a room, it looked like the room I had as a child, but there was no furniture at all in it, just floaty white curtains billowing in the breeze from the open window.

And someone came up behind me, I immediately knew it was the first man I ever loved, and I knew that we had gone through considerable effort to be in that room, alone, together.

I can't remember what he said, I can only remember the weight of his body pushing mine against the window still, that it felt exactly like it used to feel, despite the fact that in waking, I can't even clearly remember what his face looked like.

In my dream every detail of his face was obvious and soft in the evening light, he looked young, but so did I.

He clasped my waist and ran his fingers down the inside of my lower arm. "That's how you like it, isn't it?" he said. "I haven't forgotten."

And neither, it seems, have I.

It has been over a year now since I saw him in real life, and probably almost a decade since we were naked together. Yet I remembered every detail of his body.

We didn't kiss, or make love, because we both have different lives now, and even in my dream we seemed to know that; there was just this painful, bursting pressure in my chest as he lay on my creamy pale carpet and looked up at me.

I can't remember how the dream ended.

The last time I spoke to him properly, face to face, one to one, he was very drunk and I was still with my ex-boyfriend (not the real estate agent).

Will we ever be together, he said. And I said yes. I meant it. I just didn't know how.

Now, mortages and children later, I still hope I wasn't lying.

It is funny, I seem to be able to love men completely separately; the only space in which my love for this man and my love for J intersect is in the part which would feel so guilty if I was ever to fall into temptation that I probably never will.

I think I dreamed of him because when I feel down, that's what I want to go back to. Lying on a bed with an open window to the summer sky, stroking his pale inner arm and really believing that time never runs out.

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