Slow Love

French Open

I wake up a couple hours later with a throbbing headache. I wonder why? Carefully slipping out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom to get a couple aspirin. I need some caffeine, so I make a cup of coffee to wash them down. While I wait for the aspirin to kick in, enjoying my cup of coffee, I think about everything that happened. I love that man with my whole heart and soul, knowing him probably better than anyone on the planet. Never in a million years would I have thought having lunch and going to the church with Jacques would trigger a massive incident. He says he trusts me- but there is something deep down that prevents him from trusting fully.

Basically, I know this man, from 1984 forward, but I have only a small glimpse of anything prior to that. There is something horrible in his past, something he's never come to terms with, that caused him to overreact so drastically. We all have demons, but that one was a Godzilla. I can't even imagine what could lead him to think I was being unfaithful to him, or didn't love him anymore. This is a direct result of our failure to communicate. 

I am as guilty as he is, having been unwilling to reveal everything before today. It was easier to show him than speak about it; the grief is welling up inside me, still. It's impossible to not feel... heartbroken... by the loss of a child.  I can't help to think how wonderful it would be to have a baby with him.  In spite of those feelings, it terrifies me given our track record. 

I see his acoustic guitar and the piano, which should I play? Picking up his guitar, I play a few songs quietly. I feel better- it is my therapy. Dealing with his insecurities, coupled with revisiting my painful memories, has taken a heavy toll on me; but the music always soothes my soul. Hum, maybe I'm onto something here. Is that why he creates so much music, to soothe his soul? 

They say 'women' in general are very complex. I have to say, he has any woman I know beat all to hell and back. Complex doesn't even come close to describing him. Self-Involved-check, intricate-check, compound-check, composite-check, difficult to understand or deal with-check-double squared- check.  It brings to thought, physically he is a man, no doubt about it. But emotionally, he thinks like my best girlfriend, and sometimes acts like a child. He is music... and literally exudes sexuality, all the time. 

Face the facts, he's just something I'll never fully understand, but I love him anyway. I'll let Steve sort this mess out. With his PhD, he's trained in the field of psychology. Back to the music, where was I? I play a few more songs and finish up with my two soul soothing favorites;  'Tears in Heaven' and 'First Time Ever I Saw Your Face'.  I feel much better now. 

I lean forward to lay the guitar back on the coffee table where he left it and I get a whiff of his scent. He's watching me, but for how long? I pull back from the coffee table to rest my elbows on my knees, cupping my face in my hands. I close my eyes waiting to see how long it will take him to say, or do, something. 

Quickly he slides in beside me, pulling me into him, "Sweetheart, what took you so long?" I lay my head on his chest, his arms are around me. Kissing my forehead, "Baby, are you alright?" "Yes, I am. I'm good now. How long were you watching me?"