5 years of courtship, 6 months of married bliss. An altogether happy affair. But nothing could stop the restlessness gnawing at her being. Nothing could soothe her. Not even he could provide her with the solace that she yearned for. She had to help herself. And she had to be the only one. For first, she had to lay a finger on the core of the issue. Why? So many questions to ask but most of all, "why?". Why her? Why them? Their life together was perfect but for one tiny detail. One massive detail, the way she saw it.
She couldn't understand why she always desperately tried but failed to give herself to him. Him, whom she loved in ways that she couldn't begin to explain. In ways that it seemed impossible for similes or metaphors to simplify what she felt for him. In simple yet very complex ways. He was meditation to her. His name lingered on her lips and he occupied her thoughts day in and day out. Every breath she took, she took for him, with him. He was her whole world, her universe and her being. But how could this immense love be incapable of physical expression? One soul, they already were. But one body? Far from it.
It hurt her when he felt rejected. It hurt her when he understood. It hurt her when she saw the pain and yearning in his eyes. It hurt even more, when he smiled, his eyes brimming with love and understanding, his lips telling her that it was okay. Of all the things that she was to him, best-friend, sister, mother, wife and soul-mate, her biggest role was that of the woman capable of hurting him the most. The woman who failed to be his lover. She was the woman in his life and she loathed herself. She wholeheartedly loathed the woman who constantly hurt the love of her life. This woman had to die.
She tried to remember the days before they got married. The years and years full of love and passion. The years together in college, waking up to messy hair, puffy eyes and morning breath. The years when merely spotting him at a distance would stir up such passion in her, that she'd pull him away from crowds, sneak away into hidden closets, and wrap herself around him. The excitement of hiding from people, the rush it gave them to be together knowing that no one else knew. And no one else would ever know. She tried to focus on the brief period of distance between them, both trying to figure things out for themselves. She tried to remember how she forgot to miss what they had. Spiritually, still close. But physically, so far away. She remembered how she always forgot to miss his touch on her skin. And how it all finally managed to catch up with her. Still young in her twenties and she couldn't feel the same things she did in the past.
These thoughts gnaw at her on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Both of them still in bed, wrapped in each others' arms. It's like a dagger through her soul each time he asks her. She hates herself for even making him ask, "Shall we...?" or "Can we....today....is that okay?". It wasn't meant to be this way! Nobody should have to ask! Both of them should feel it and yet, she never felt it. Never. 6 months of married bliss but not even once could she ask him instead of the other way around. In her haste to not let it show, she starts kissing him but he's no fool to not notice the involuntary tears that simultaneously roll down her cheeks. He stops her to hold her close to his chest. The safest place in the world for her. The most comforting hug in the world. She asks him if he feels loved with her. And he just repeats the question to her.
"No", she says.
"Because you didn't fart under the covers this morning. Remember you said you did it to keep me warm? Where are those "methane cuddles"? I don't feel loved without them."
"You're as depraved as that comic, you know?", he laughs while kissing her forehead.
"And so are you. But tell me seriously. What can I do to make you feel more loved?"
He digs his head into her chest and says one word. "Breathe".
A reminder that she couldn't have done anything in her life to deserve this man.
Here's the very funny Oatmeal greeting card that came up earlier.