In Possibility and Ascension, I wrote an abstract post of sorts detailing how Xan and I got together. It didn’t have to be so convoluted and vague as it was, twisting and turning with enough imagery to put anyone into overload. But, at the same time, it did. Those were the only combination of words that I could put together to express how it had happened in my mind, and even more so in my heart.
Today, I’d like to make some confessions about it. The first being the translation.
In the first paragraph:
When one door closes, another opens.
And occasionally it occurs as overlapping events, rather than simultaneously. Such is the nature of life, with its interwoven fibers amounting to the gorgeous flowing fabric. We are the sum of our actions and the resulting events. But it’s not so simple. The seeds were strewn about our fields throughout a long period of time, lodging themselves deep into our soil. Then under the right conditions, they emerged to the surface to the light of day.
This was a sister prose of Decent Into Hell, if one was unable to tell. The seeds were those little, unconscious, benign exchange between us over a period of three years. I continued:
The seeds of our affections were sown. And yet, we were blind to it.
Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve – – – words that often arise when hindsight comes into perfect focus. Had I not been so engulfed in my failing relationships, I could’ve realized it.
Confession #1: Xan and I were dating before I had even left my ex.
It was not an intentional love affair. In fact, I was nothing of the sort. It was accidental, subconscious courtship. There was no physical contact. However, as I started to inspect our romantic roots, I realized the existence of our love far beyond any admissions or actions.
I worked in a bakery at the time, making myself pretty visible. Xan knew when I got off of work, and he would occasionally pop by unexpectedly. Then, he would invite me to dinner. I always declined, telling him that I just didn’t have enough money to go. He said he didn’t plan on me paying in the first place and that my prescience wasn’t requested. It was required.
In short, we had dates long before we were ever officially together.
The purging had ceased, inebriation started to fade while the sun battled his way above the horizon. The first dim morning rays crept into the room, scarring the darkness into hiding. Innocently entangled in one another, grappling for a certain reality that remained just shy of our reach, we breathed in unison. Our voices were so low that the breeze seemingly whisked our words away, leaving only remnants in my memory. What only remained was his gentle baritone murmur in my ears and the soft vibrations against my chest. However, one managed to sound loudly in my mind.
I want to make love to you . . .
Stunned. Paralyzed. I want to make love to you too . . . – stifled far too soon. It wasn’t the phrase. It was the sentiment.
Confession #2: Xan and I had romantic roots more than three years back.
The situation played out like this. My ex, Beck, and I had broken up for the first time shortly before this occurrence. His new girlfriend was having a welcome party for some of her friends from Colorado, and our mutual friends invited me, much to his chagrin.
Xan and I were competitive drinkers at the time. Well, truthfully, what weren’t we competitive about? Though there was a certain amount of attraction and affection, there was always this need to feed an ego. All of those things have stood the test of time, in case you were wondering.
TMI: So, after getting wrecked on red bull and vodka all night, we shared a cooking pot to vomit into. We were the last people with any remaining consciousness, and the whole house was silent. All of the other sleeping areas were taken, and we were sharing the smallest, most uncomfortable sofa in the entire world. It didn’t matter, though. There was something about being locked in his embraced. It wasn’t sexual. It was a feeling like home.
That is when he propositioned me. Confession: I wanted to. He admitted later that he wasn’t entirely serious, but he would have if I had agreed. But, I didn’t. There were a lot of factors that went into it. We were friends. I was seeing someone else. And somehow, a rumor had spread that gave him a bad reputation as a playboy. He never was.
Silence, with the exception of our constant dialogue like a clear flowing stream. It was never the conversation that was important, but rather the continual contact. We caressed each other through discreet discourse, as if our words were hands searching each others’ darkest secrets. Outright confessions would’ve been too forward and obvious. Physical displays would certainly be condemnable. Our verbal intercourse continued, flying low under the radar as an innocent act of friendship of which even we were both eagerly convinced it was.
We stayed up for late night chats a lot. There is really no other way to become truly intimate with a person than to share early morning hours with them. That was years in the past. We didn’t pick that back up until our subconscious courtship prior to our abrupt relationship.
His bare bedroom walls were soon filled with the colors of our affections.
Confession #3: The words that sparked our relationship were, “I have always loved you.” When did always begin?
I asked him that question shortly into our relationship. He had asked, “Do you recall that night we painted my room?”
I did remember. I remember being in some pseudo-screwed-up-relationship with my ex, Beck. Xan, being the devils advocate that he is, said to me, “I’m bored. Do you want to ransack Sasha’s (Beck’s long distance girlfriend) stuff to find something to do?” It was devious. I loved it. It was so us. We had done mischievous things to friends before, ranging anywhere from sending bogus text messages to “misplacing” things.
We found her paints, and we made a night of it. I recall taking off my jeans and throwing them in the hallway. He inquired. I replied, practically, “So I don’t get any paint on them, duh.”
Confession: I actually kept that pair of blue underwear with the yellow paint stain for several years afterward. Xan was doing my laundry one day and asked, “Are these the…?” “Yep.” It turns out, we both have decent memories for the sentimentals.
To Be Continued….
Sunny With a Chance Of Armageddon 