And it ends

He leaves on Wednesday, and today is Friday.

I called in sick today…. again.

To spend the night in my lover’s arms, desperately wringing out all I can before he’s gone.

He spent Wednesday night with me, cooked me dinner and we drank wine and then whiskey and made violent love on my furniture and in the morning it rained and I had to lend him my jumper.  He’s a very, very tall man, my lover, so I only had one massive hairy woolen item that would fit him, a charity shop find for snuggling into on cold lonely evenings. We took the bus together and I wallowed in the bonus time with him, almost part of my workday…

At work I was given yet another pointless boring task and my eyelid started twitching as it does sometimes when I’m stressed or haven’t slept or drank too much coffee. Or usually all three. I couldn’t look at the screen any more so I whinnied to my boss and left early, and paved the way for a no-show the next day, today.

But would he want to see me? Again, so soon? Whatever, there’s no point playing it cool, I have five days left and I’d be a fool to waste any of that time. I texted him if he’d like to join me… no alarm clock the next morning… interested?

He came, of course he did, and he told me he spent all morning looking at his phone, hoping for a message from me. Why didn’t he text me then? Because you had to work early, I didn’t want to distract you again…

Distract me as much as you like, I want you all the time. But he said I made him so happy when I sent him that message. Ah, I’ll miss this one. I’ll miss this one when he’s gone. I hope… I dare to hope that when he leaves it will hit him, the whiplash of our relationship or affair or whatever it is. He’ll miss me too. I hope so. I know so. I just fear a little bit that he won’t, that he’ll move on and his life back home will close around the gaps where I should be and sure a little hole will remain but it will be so much smaller than the emptiness I’ll have back here.

He’s exchanging my love for home, for friends, for his language, for his life.

I’m not exchanging anything… he’s being extracted like a perfect tooth, yanked out of my world and replaced with nothing.

But he will miss me.

And I don’t know what to do, I’m frightened of how sad I am going to be.

He entered my life a month ago, my period had just started and we had an instant connection.

4 or 5 days of every week, we have spent intensely and passionately and tenderly in each others presence.

Today I got my period again. We’ll end this like it started, with a wild night on the town and messy sheets and potato waffles under the grill and so many cigarettes.

Today is Tuesday and he leaves on Wednesday.

Tomorrow.

I told my boss my twitchy eye is acting up and I need tomorrow off… I’m taking the piss, absolutely… but this is more important, it’s a matter of hours left, with my happiness. I’d lose my job for a few more hours. I might lose my job for a few more hours….

Friday night he took my face in his hands and told me he loved me and he knew I loved him too.

We spent that night loving each other and we danced together and I said sorry to his friend, sorry for being Yoko on your last night together. It’s ok… he said… he’s happy with you. I like to see him like this…

A guy took photos of us and later he sent them to me and I thought, fuck that’s going to hurt. But they’re lovely and I’m glad to have them.

He leaves tomorrow and I don’t want him to go, but there it is, the full stop that loomed over our love affair from the first night. I’m waiting for him in the apartment where we must have made love … no, we never fucked, did we? Fifty… sixty… oh go on, a hundred times…

I’m waiting in a pretty dress and I have a stupid hope that it’s pretty enough to change things.

When I’m with him I’m not alone, and when he leaves it will just be a bedsit again and all my sick days will drop down into my empty life like tinny change.

Oh but it was all worth it. It has to have been worth it, it was beautiful.

To feel like this again, to know I can feel like this and someone can fall for me…. I’ve never been anyone’s first love before, and now I fill that space in a life and I’m so honoured.

At least there won’t be bitterness. Maybe I’ll never see him again but he’ll see me every time he’s sad or every time  he falls out of love with a woman, and I’ll be there, untouchable, beautiful, never fading, because the love didn’t grow old and wither but lived fast and left a perfect corpse to torment us with.

And then it seems ridiculous because we met a month ago, but I’m no newcomer to love, I’m not kidding myself romanticising something mediocre just because it has an expiration date to sigh over.

He’s packing his life away as I type and soon he’ll be here for our final night. Part of me wants to sit in silence and boredom like Yossarian’s friend  Dubar, to make the night live forever through inaction. He’ll be here soon and then it will be over.

I have too many condoms left to use up tonight. I feel like throwing away the rest because they are our condoms and they are for us and I don’t want him to leave and I don’t want to go back out there, dressing up and going out and allowing someone who isn’t him to disappoint me by comparison.

And he’s coming over soon and I’m all sad…. and I have to be happy for our last night together. So I’ll leave off my lamenting for now and try coax myself into good spirits and I’ll come back and cry to you all tomorrow or the next day.

Good night….

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