The Unbearable Lightness of Loving

"And therein lies the whole of man's plight. Human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition." -Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being


I had picked out a new outfit for July 14th. After a couple of "test runs", I was confident that I looked pretty good in it--dark brown leggings with three tiny buttons on each calf, and an ivory top that was really more like a short, strapless dress, complete with it's own tiny buttons and lacy, old-fashioned ruffles on the chest. I didn't know if I liked ivory; it seemed to accentuate the color of my skin that I so detest, but she loved my skin and loved when I wore ivory. So, ivory it was. That morning, I did my makeup the best way I knew how, which was only mediocre since my personal makeup artist was back in Texas. I supposed it was a waste of time; the second I deplaned in San Antonio, the humidity was going to wreck my makeup anyway. I picked up my brown Le Tigre wayfarers and my giant purple purse and headed to the airport. 
Despite the ginger ale I drank on the plane, my stomach turned and bubbled for the duration of the flight. I wasn't motion-sick, of course. Just nervous. We had begun dating on May 9th, the day that we had arrived at our respective homes in Pine, Arizona and Boerne, Texas, so we hadn't seen each other at all during our dating relationship. The last time I had seen her, she was my friend and nothing more. What if she had been pranking me somehow? She knew that I was bisexual. What if she had done this to "out" me and then expose me to my family or my church? What if she hadn't known what she was getting into? What if she was just trying to follow along with my sexuality, but was about to realize that it just wasn't quite right for her? What if, when she laid eyes on me, she was repulsed by the idea of dating me and was then stuck with me at her house? I had been doubting the reality of this new relationship since its inception. She had assured and reassured me with countless hours of phone conversations, dozens of Skype chats, and plenty of sweet, romantic Facebook messages, all telling me that it was for real, and that she was truly attracted to me, and truly thrilled to have a new way in which to love me. But my legs were still unsteady as I made my way to baggage claim in the San Antonio airport. My eyes, always telltales, darted nervously around, looking for her. I kept my wayfarers on. She had always enjoyed being able to see the truth so clearly spelled out in my eyes, even if my lips were swearing to something different, and I would not have her seeing the terrified truth in them that day.
I saw her, waiting for me at the bottom of an escalator, purple balloon in hand to match the lyrics of one of my favorite songs. I couldn't take off my sunglasses. She felt stupid for buying me a balloon. We hugged shyly. We picked up my suitcase. We began what would be the greatest two years of my life.
That day, July 14th, we went on our first date. We held hands. We kissed. We were reassured of the validity of our love in a way that no typed words or distant-voice-coming-out-of-a-machine could accomplish. 
But this week, in cyclical fashion, I was hit with a similar nervousness. Similar, but intensified. I suppose intense nervousness could be called fear, so I'll just refer to it as such. I have a fear that she won't love me anymore. She'll love me in some way, but it won't be the same. There won't be marriage in Heaven, so she will no longer be attracted to me. She won't want to hold my hand or go on cute dates with me. Maybe she won't really want to spend much time with me at all. Maybe in God's presence, she's realized that the whole relationship was wrong after all, and she is now praying that I will understand that it was a sin, and that I will stop loving her. 
I realized that, when next I see her, she won't kiss me. I realized that I kissed her for the last time on May 23rd, 2011. And, I didn't really even enjoy it. I was looking forward to days of better kisses without NG tubes in the way. Now there is no tube, but there won't be a kiss either. And, with that fear, I decided that I didn't want to see her. I didn't want to die, because the "cure" I've so looked forward to, being in her arms and being loved by my beloved, will never come. I will see her. I will be happy. But we will never be the same.
Like in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, the frustration now stems from the idea that what had been done will never be done again. Life is not cyclical after all. My relationship with Marie was a point on the ray that is my life, and I cannot return to it. The book would go so far as to suggest that it might as well never have happened at all. 
I know that good came of my relationship with Marie. A lot of good. An incredible amount of joy. But will I thank God for it if it turns out to have been a sinful relationship? Is she thanking God for it, or is it a huge regret for her? Will she still want to be my friend? Will she even want to see me when I arrive? I don't know.
But I do know that our relationship is over. Forever.





{"Oh, tell me you love me.
Come back and haunt me..."}