Excitement For The Coming Regret

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

A conflict with love, marraige, desire and emptiness. An ending uncertain.

Submitted: January 28, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 28, 2018




An internal race for my emotional focus simmers now with bubbles of increasing size. So many emotional storylines I've entertained the last few nights. Often containing elements I'm not prepared for, the fruits of some- an intimate sexual drama that's cycled through my mind most of my life. Others painted by upwardly spiraling emotional connections-- absoluetly addictive. The temperature has risen sharply.

Stories running concurrently; racing each other, some intertwining, others stand alone. Some of these races are lost, though I clearly didn't notice. Some of them ended long ago, but I can't be sure which ones. Each thread a door to open, or look through. The lack of understanding I have for this reality embarrasses me.

As naivety and imagination are always at home inside this space, they rule unfinished gaps in my understanding, filling in blanks with aspirations, insecurities and immaturity. Drifting from one to another. Consuming my days, dazzling my closed eyes at night.

This pace I'm unaccustomed to; furious right now. Hopeful for the opportunities that exist within these stories, nervous I lack the wisdom, I just don't think I have it. Not daring ask questions, as I would rather not consider answers if they'll not be what I prefer.

The theater in my mind is a melodrama I conjured, but also cultivated. If you set a trap for yourself to stumble into, why should anyone do anything but roll their eyes. Of course they're right.

I can can surely decrease the speed, yet I simply don't want to. The urge is a fuse, lit by my deepest feelings, burning hotter now by choice. As the doors open up, what lies behind each is largely unknown. Yet part of what I can see through the frame are missing pieces. Pieces I've been looking for everywhere, and desperately, for so long, my heart aches to know what they'll be like. The appeal is spellbinding.

While what makes their capture so urgent, at the same time feels manufactured. I've been angling for this, it's not a coincidence, and no surprise I've drawn myself to the threshold. I hoped this day would come.

Perhaps the doors are opened wider right now. But maybe they were always open, and only now am I considering stepping through them. I'm scared to. If I do, I may close my eyes. This cowardice almost bothers me enough not to do it--

but only almost.

When I open my eyes, how long will I like what I see? The time I like it may be shorter than I dreamed. I'm almost certain it will be. I want to be a better person for it, but am firmly unconvinced.

I don't know if its enough to stop me. Perhaps it will stop me from doing it next time.

Opening my heart to the abyss-- Peril...I see it; this unwelcome companion must join me, waiting with a razor hand. Only holding this hand I will walk towards her.

Should I know how to cope before I step through? I admit the answer must be yes. How much will that matter to me at the moment I decide?

I'm not sure it will matter at all.


Where in this drama is the hand of my beloved wife? By my side in constance; from our shared workplace, to every day and evening, she is near me.

A petite beauty, she's kind; a wonderful and devoted mother; and a super genius. Simply counting her as a friend is an honor, as a wife she gave me my highest honor. I love her without condition.

Though a tortured soul she is; a mind of lightning, and a temper like thunder. Her mental gears spin with terrifying speed, off the tracks in an instant, ending in tragic moments often unintended.

While the elements of this sweet heroine may seem in conflict, the sadness is not her making, and the torment not her choosing. The paradox of darkness and light so close together make her who she is. Despite the darkness I cherish her, I want her to be mine forever.

Yet an instinctive desire begins where the emptiness is revealed. For the pieces she doesn't possess my heart cries out for. They manifest as an intimacy void surely clinical. Draw no line between affection and sexuality. Neither can function from instinct or desire. They are false, and participation- heartbreak. With every thoughtful avenue for a remedy explored, an impasse we've shared with an ocean of tears.

The bleed from the emotional and physical loss drips everywhere. Marking moments with absence. Where affection is compelled to make an appearance, its pure novelty. An obligation, unnatural, signaling for the nearest off ramp. From the simplicity of a kiss on the forehead, to a gentle hand on the cheek-- a wall. So rare does a moment penetrate the cloud it's like nothing of heard of...let alone lived.

Simultaneously deeply in love, and dispairing for what we'll never be together. The funeral for our intimate bonds held a lifetime ago, neither of us attended; as it was simply easier to forget. Coexisting in a practical partnership of respect, kindness, sharing and love; we forge ahead together with each sunrise.

But in the empty spaces, a longing to fill them. The force needed to quell this desire I'm increasingly incapable of controlling. The pursuit of loving human fufillment I feel entitled to. At some point the dam will break, It's certainty dripping now.

The state of affairs has turned my life into a mini-series. Wanting to fill my heart with the missing pieces I am at the precipice. So many threads in my mind, so many of them tantalizing. Opportunities for fufillment at the tips of my fingers. So close now my heart pounds in sync with each desire.

In a crisis of my own making I am standing alone. While some know parts of the story, none know them all. Only you the reader have now been behind the curtain. I write this essay to myself, there is no other outlet. The whole thing seems so convoluted. Why am I here except to ask permission, and who am I asking permission from anyway? The correct answer is probably my dear wife. Should she recoil, what avenues for filling these desires will exist? Certainly the avenues will shrink, likely replaced with mistrust and humiliation.

When you don't share a loving gaze with the eyes of your partner; held the hand of your dear friend, or warmly embraced your lover; at what point does the liberation of healthy human nature override the gravity of your marraige vows? I never considered a valued marraige requiring the signing of a suicide pact.

A road of dishonestly is not in my nature, yet my compelling interest to experience normalcy is overwhelming. The ebbs and flows of this drama are playing out in real time. From close friends to potential lovers. Pieces are beginning to get closer, I see them now, I long for them.

in the end the only question may be if any of the risk will be worth it. I pray for safe passage in this tumultuous sea. There is no guarantee I'll find what I'm seeking. May love and our shared humanity contain the strength that will allow me to move forward in hope.

Part 3

Permission granted.

Just saying that makes me tremble. Two nights ago, during the prelude to another Saturday Night Special. The obligatory guilt trip between the sheets. Halted this time...now a talk.

Honey, I want to be with you forever; I love you. I want us to stop pretending. I don't want to lose you, but to live in truth, I must tell you...

The simple act of a kiss, the back of the fingers slipping down a cheek. Intimacy realized, normalcy, my humanity. I ask you now, faithful to you for 28 years, if I would make the choice to insert myself into that moment with someone else, will be be divorced?


Right there, the possibility to live in truth. The potential to live in peace, in intimacy, and in faith with my partner. My love, my sweet girl, nothing will replace her.

Should the worth of a spouse be judged by their ability to enjoy physical affection? I don't believe so. It's not why we married to be sure. I loved her inside, outside and sideways. How can I take her insecurities, shame and discomfort as disqualifying properties for being my wife? She is not disqualified, she is overly qualified in fact.

I began this essay as a story in real time, written to myself. How to sort through this fog I didn't know. By the latter half of part 2 I did know....the right thing to do was open up my heart and ask.

The silver lining to painful communication is that it works; even in horrible moments.

To be here with us to see it...we kissed, offered our love to one another. We considered each others feelings. There was no yelling, no crying, but oh was it serious.

While explaining around the edges, she paused and said "I know." To while looking in her eyes I said, it sounds a lot like I'm asking for your permisdion to have an affair doesn't it?

I'm asking us to respect each other enough to be honest. Where we bond lets rejoice together, where we do not must we be forced to curse it?

I flash forward to a day 40 years from now when I may one day bring flowers to your grave. I cannot imagine sitting there alone, knowing I wasn't true to you. That I didn't have the courage to speak to my bride with honesty and love. To share what was in my heart. Today I become slightly different.

Not different due to budding sexual exploits, as those may yet be few and far away. But the mere possibility of normal intimacy seems like a lamp to guide me.

Not looking to have sex you creeps! But not looking to make love either. I'm looking for casual courtship, flirtation, a wink returned, a smile that moves closer to you with an opening mouth. At the end of that experience, sexuality may be a fitting chapter, but I will not write that. That will only be done by the two...

No different than you may have experienced. Simplicity, its the emotion; the spark that may ignite more. It also may not. I have no worries here, did you know orgasms are super easy to get? They're practically giving them away, just look down, its a really simple process.

No, today I search for something so plain, so natural, and really so common. A hand reaching out to touch one reaching in. There's nothing to it really, and I'll never pin down why its so important. But absent eriting this essay I don't know where I'd stand today. Hiding behind tortorous prose trying to intice a reader with a clever turn of phrase? Did I just give myself away?

The stories have now changed, the threads to tug have shifted. What was once a blistering pace has calmed to sirene. Matters are in sharper focus now, but I'm im no rush, the time will come, I can be patient. The hardest part was being truthful, but that's something I can handle. Living in truth feels right, wholesome, and loving.

I bid all of you readers my best wishes. I will leave you with a small encouragement: Never underestimate the heart of the one you love, if you ask to join that heart in kindness, a more hopeful outcome will be in the hands of you both.

Should Part 4 unfold...here will I confess.

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