Blurred to grey, storms and holding patterns *e*

After yesterday’s torrential downpour and resulting nightmare of a ride home, I’m finding the world today has been washed clean, in a way – and what should be a clean slate is lingering with the pollen of what was. It’s like that, sometimes. The damp newness of it all acts as a magnet to the old, drawing it in – unresolved issues, spacing, timing, the mental clarity of the way things should be, when it contradicts everything your heart is telling you. Who decides the way things should be anyway? Who gets to make that call for other people? Who makes determinations about timing, intensity, meaning? I’d like to have words with them. The bottom line in this day of bright, sunshiny storm clouds is that I know what I want, where I’m headed and where I am, and the view from here, although windy with a side of rain showers is absolutely beautiful, and I can’t wait to see where it takes me. Anywhere it takes me, as long as…well. The world has a more vibrant shade of beauty when she’s there, and I hope it sticks.

The weekend went by in a blur, and it’s not the details I remember as much as the texture. I don’t remember specific words or timing, or moments of conversation – moments of other things, although they were plentiful. The specifics were not the important thing to remember, so my mind wrapped around the meaning behind those specifics and held on to the color of her room on Sunday morning, it held onto the warmth in her arms, watching a movie when I had no clue what was happening. It caught the salt of random tears of happiness in vulnerability, and the awareness of those moments. It’s funny – the blurry is kind of how our conversations went too. We discussed life-smashing in generalizations and humor…like we always do. She told me a mom-saying for that, but I can’t remember that either. We joked about ring shopping if she could pin me for 5 seconds, should you ever feel assertive. Told me I better go shopping early. And one tidbit that is crystal clear, the intonation of her voice, the quiet hum of the background noise, the dark of the windowpane behind her head… we were talking about pasts, again. Talking about promises and understandings and feelings, and the marked distinctions between what is and what was, for both of us (yet another way our lives have always mirrored and circled each other, in different ways with identical results). She kept saying things, and I kept saying “I hope so”. She asked if I didn’t know, and I explained that I hoped, not because I didn’t believe her, but because I felt like I was floating on clouds of hope, which is a new thing for me – this faith – but it doesn’t lead to very stable footing. Sometimes clouds can fall through. So I asked, in a moment of uncertainty and blowing winds if they had all believed her too. And she looked at me in the stillness of a setting sun, and smiled that smile that lights up the whole room and said something I’ll never forget. She said “I’ve told others that I’ve loved them, yes, but I’ve never told anyone they don’t need to worry. I never told them that I wasn’t going anywhere. I knew better. So believe me, because it’s true, for the first time – with you. And I love you, all the more for it.” I wasn’t looking for the answer or the reassurance, really. I was just asking a question circling around my mind in that stillness – and she gave it to me in spades. As far as reassurances go, I find that my desire of them has diminished, now that I find myself in a place where trust is built in and I have no reason to worry. My head goes on the spin cycle sometimes, and I get windy, but it’s not because of the girl. It’s because that’s how my brain functions, wondering, hoping and dreaming about the future while fully immersed in the present (for the first time). I don’t worry about her. I don’t wonder about her, really – I wonder in the way of what color and texture the future will have for us – not if they’ll be one. I wonder where we’ll find ourselves, years from now – not whether or not we’ll still even talk then. I don’t prepare for an inevitable collapse, because I don’t see one on the horizon. It’s like my biggest fears have been not buried – to bury them would be to fear their existence and try to delay their eventuality – they’ve had a spotlight shined on them, been illuminated, and when they were all lit up like that – I saw them for how silly they were, and now they don’t scare me anymore. It’s funny, that.

So many things are becoming so clear to me at this point. A lot of things, although the edges are blurry, are tuning into sharp focus. Things I already knew, they’re not new revelations by any means, but now they’re being thrust in sharp relief to the real behind their meanings. I knew how lucky I was to have her – to have found her, by chance, and have it turn into this. We sat in the car waiting for Outback on our stolen Sunday evening, and went back to the beginning – January, our first contact with each other. It seems like worlds away. But I’m starting to understand just how lucky I am. We joked about the fact that so many people are turning to me and saying “what are you waiting for” when I don’t know what it is they’re referring to. Next steps? Life smashing? Rivers? I don’t know what they mean, and its frustrating to me. I have everything I want, but now that I have it, I just want to drown in that (she tried) and keep it going forever. These mini separations are killing me – both us, really, and when I stop to think about it, the humor and irony of it makes me literally laugh. I’ve spent the last few years of my life in long distance relationships where I became accustomed to seeing the person I was with once every 6 months. And now, I see Spike several times a week, and it breaks my heart to say goodbye, each and every time – just like each and every time the thought of seeing her gives me butterflies. How funny is that? But I had conversations with Dani about this dichotomy. She is a sage and wise person to have as a best friend, and what she said made sense. She said that I was used to others being away and apart, so yes, although I fell apart when they left, it quickly went back to normal. In a long distance relationship, you become accustomed to the distance, and the separation anxiety although greatly heightened for those times immediately following when you’re together is worse, it quickly goes away, to fade back into normal. With Spike, we are building something deeper than I’ve ever had, and that is in large part because she IS here, but still…every time we say goodbye, it’s like a mini separation to me, which makes it difficult to deal with. Spike and I discussed this over the weekend as well – another interesting dichotomy in our relationship – we both miss each other so much, when we’re not together, but at the same time we both maintain two separate lives apart from each other. This is a huge difference to me from my past histories, when I’d lose myself in the relationship or in the other person and not really carry on independently without them. With Spike I do. I have group, my co-workers, my own friends and plans with them (although admittedly, I have fallen a little short on this area and it must be balanced) and my own thing going on, and so does she – and I not only support and encourage that, but I’m happy for it. It’s little things like that which remind me how much Ihave grown and changed and evolved from the person I was. While Spike is not only my girlfriend, or whatever else she may be in these in-between stages, she’s also quickly becoming one of my closest friends. One of the people I can tell anything to – one of the first I think of when I have a crappy day and need to vent – or, conversely, if my day rocks and I want to share it with someone. But what’s nice is that closeness does not diminish, in any way, our passion for each other. Sometimes there is a danger of that – you become so comfortable with them, that you start to see them differently – but both of us agree, after much discussion, that is definitely not the case. I’m realizing that other’s idea of timing, and the “supposed to be’s” are lacking in importance. What matters is what is. How it feels. How I feel. What I know. What we know together. And although we don’t talk about it directly, we know. We both know we know. And there will come a time, when it’s right and fitting and mutual, where those discussions will come. Whether it’s from a story she’s supposed to be writing – a foreign language declaration that I’m supposed to be figuring out, or a joke that turns serious when we least expect it, I have absolutely no doubt that it will happen – I know it will.

What it comes down to really is a test of patience. I’m not a patient person, by any means. I want the future, and I want it now. But, with all that said – there are some things that are worth waiting for. We’re on the same page, in the same book, in the same library and it feels now almost like we’re two wild cats, circling each other, both wanting the same thing but waiting for that moment. We both feel it, I think. I’m not exactly sure, since we don’t talk about it. But we don’t not talk about it intentionally, and we poke fun at the seriousness of it all. This is serious. And it is seriously beautiful. What am I waiting for? I don’t know. But sometimes the wait in itself is what’s important to note. It’s like balancing on the top of a swing, right when you hit the peak, before your stomach drops and you begin the downward spiral – that moment when your heart is pounding and you know it’s going to happen, but it leaves you hanging there, waiting. That’s what I feel like, now – all the time. But it’s not ripple-causing. It’s glorious. I hope the headiness and butterfly feeling never stops, no matter what steps we take. I can’t imagine it will. And that amazes me, constantly.

And now, from writing all that, from moving past the frustration of the day and tiny ripples and waves in otherwise calm waters, I’m not stormy anymore. But what I really love, in all of this, one of the many, many things: When I’m stormy, the girl doesn’t try to force-calm the waters. She stands there, smiles and blows into the wind, steadfast – knowing they will calm when they’re ready, and knowing I’ll always find my way home. That’s huge. That’s my huge thing, right up there with hers. And that’s what makes all the difference in the world to a dreaming little rainbow like me.

and last night:
Her: vous avez mon coeur (you have my heart)
Me: Spike, you are my heart.

“In fact, this may have escaped your keen notice, but I’m kind of a brat. I’ve always sort of gotten my way. So, you’re gonna make it through this no matter how dark it gets because, now, you’re my way” Kennedy to Willow – Buffy the Vampire Slayer