San Francisco will always have my heart. It alights my senses: the sounds of the MUNI trains clacking down city streets, the smell of eucalyptus, the feel of tender fog tendrils crawling along my skin, the taste of chewy sourdough and rich black coffee, and the sight of rolling, bucking hills mastered by civil engineering and brute ingenuity. It’s a masterful city and one I haunted as a teenager, but it also reminds me of who I used to be.
I used to be a lost girl in search of her tribe; a group of people who would accept her for who she was, who would play with her, celebrate life, their bodies, their minds, and each other. When I was that girl I drowned in pain. I tried so hard to make my life fit here, but it proved impossible. So I left. And found my tribe many miles away in a foreign world filled with a different kind of folk. My folk.
As that young, lost woman I bought the line that forever existed in many different forms, though my life proved differently at every opportunity. I’m not sure if it was just denial or my clinging hope that pushed me through the pinhole of forever-thinking, but regardless, there I was. Always searching the face of the boy I had just slept with for the “Hy, you’re The One. I couldn’t help but realize your awesomeness during that drunken fuck we just shared,” or the friend’s face for her deep and abiding sense of love and reciprocation for me after I had just emptied my bank account to take us out. I thought everything was supposed to last forever because I was a good person.
What a goddamned fool I was. Nothing ever lasted forever. Ever. My parents’ marriage ended, people died, moved away, grew apart, whatever. Life happened and life is not forever by its very meaning. Forever is a security blanket, not a reality. It’s a foolish relief. It’s not fucking real, y’all.
When I got married, I forgot about this — conveniently, obviously — but my ex-husband, bless his heart, was a big believer and I thought if this genius of a man could believe in a forever-us, then I surely could, too. It still hurts to think of how colossally right I was — or maybe I was wrong — about forever. I stood in front of my very closest 75 friends and family and pledged myself to this man, our love and to that relationship forever.
And then I called every single one of them to tell them I was wrong.
I want to remember that feeling of failure and fallacy as I move forward with my life. Love is not forever. Nothing is. No feeling, no mood, no situation. Nothing. It is ever-changing. It’s what makes life so goddamned beautiful and breath-taking. Give it a minute and something will happen. Life is bigger than me or you. It is everything.
My relationship with The Neighbor may not make sense on a long-term plan, but I don’t believe I would be any more guaranteed if I were in a committed relationship. TN and I have been doing what we do for nearly a year now and I have never had a relationship this long, this close, and this passionate. Ever.
We fight, we make love, we grow together, we back away, we do it all again. The fact that I still have interest in this person after 12 months of intensity elevates this to a different animal for me. “It could end tomorrow” is more real than if he and I promised it wouldn’t, but I don’t believe in promises, remember? They’re not fucking real. I’d only be fooling myself.
My heart would soar if he ever said, “Hy, I love you,” and I would feel that completeness that spoken love brings to my ears, but then I would wonder when it was going to end. Can I really see myself being with this young man long-term? My heart gets squirrelly when I imagine TN and I as a “couple.”
Yes, when he opens his arms to me and speaks in future tense I balk and question the path.
What’s the fucking point? In seven years we’d likely grow apart anyway like everyone does, it’s my own personal theory. Think about it: seven years all melted down to daily exposure and a body will likely fritz out at the seven year mark.
Since our time away he has gone above and beyond my wildest hopes. Texts, phone calls, cock shots, sexy videos, words of encouragement. I don’t know who he is anymore and I find myself blooming with romantic feelings then slicing them off my heart as quickly as they sprout. I cannot afford to go down this route again. Not with him, and most surprisingly I now realize, perhaps with not with anyone.
I appreciate his attention and his affection, but in the greater scheme of things, they will fade over time just as my feelings for him will. It’s the cycle of love and life and living. Everything ends.
I am glad that I have found my tribe in my new city and I’m glad that I know the love of a child as a mother — I’ll grant that is the one true and undying love in this world — the sad, lost girl is a thing of the past. I’m done angling for a “future” with TN. I’m going to live each day as if it’s my last, each week as if it’s a luscious last meal. I’m not going to hide anymore. I’m going to open up and be more me because I have nothing to lose. It’s already all been lost.
TN loves me now. I know it and one day he will, too. He’ll think back on how much he missed me when he was away, how much more he missed me when I was gone. He’ll remember how he used the key under my mat and strode across my empty apartment to my dresser, opened my panty drawer, and picked out the prettiest pair he could find. Then he’ll remember how he put them on under his shorts and texted me a photo with the words, “Getting ready for softball.” He’ll remember the phone calls he made, the glorious video of his hand a blur on his cock, milking it for me and gently replacing it under the mesh of my black lace. He’ll remember all the covert pics I sent him as I meandered through San Francisco and his ardent replies of encouragement and glee. He’ll remember what we had with a sad longing because it will be lost by then.
I have given up on forever, but not on love. The two are mutually exclusive. Forever fucked me a long time ago and I just want to get fucked today. And loved. That’s what’s real and worth shooting for. And that’s what’s gonna happen. Watch me.