"What if we went together?" he said.
So, me tied to him at the feet, clinging to him to save my life as we drop.
Again, I laughed, "I would be crying the whole time."
"That's okay," he replied plainly and softly.
He would just like the experience or excuse to be that close. He would like the experience of being the provider of safety to a woman he has a wee crush on. A woman he could never have. That's sweet. At least, it feels sweet. At 27, he doesn't come across as preditorial or greasy, just wholly naive.
Given that the mutual attraction exists, I find his suggestion is intriguing.
You can tell he sees a life force in me that he would like to touch, and finds any excuse to do so.
Those little sparks of attraction, that highway of energy that can be felt when you are just so close to that boundary line, fly, and I think, damn it.
I eat this shit for breakfast, lunch, and dinner: romance, desire, seduction, innocence, love, human connections. I live for romantic ideals. Sometimes, it is the largest one vein in my body - throbbing for attention. I am forced to write this out of me as other people and their experiences in stories because I am, for the most part, reasonable. I will not act out on irrational thoughts. I love my husband and our life.
But, god damn it, he opened the door.
When someone opens the right door, they pour in light, light that leads me to look into the rooms in which I live every day, and it appears, suddenly, as though perhaps I shorted myself by living in my husband's prison with him. I chose to live here knowingly, because I get to come and go.
He may live every day of his life in the prison of his mind, but I come and go. But, the thing is, I always come back - to his prison.
Once and a while someone opens a different door, a door that threatens the peace and balance of our half prison home, and I see the prison for what it is. I end up asking myself how much of my life force am I giving away to this prison?
I don't believe that running off with someone, anyone else, would fix this issue, but it presents the questions: could I be more alive in my own life, do I desire to be more alive in my own life, have I fallen asleep in his cell with him?
Do I have to cross the line when I share time with someone who presents options, is there a way to explore a muse safely? Because of this I have no doubt, he is a muse.
Can I just let him kiss me?
Oh... once that door opened for me, there was no going back. The light that poured in, that *other* light; those options -the way out of the prison, out of that deep falling-asleep-trapped-forever in a not-quite-unhappy state. That light, those options become bigger, more important than anything. They ruined my life and then pulled sheer bliss out of the mess left behind.
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