My life is on hold. I have pressed pause. I didn't do this intentionally, it just kind of happened. I am in instamatic picture, freeze frame, whilst all around me are mobile; in motion, moving forward in the ever transient 'now'.
Love keeps me immobile. It chains me to stagnation. Insidious tendrils curved and caressed my feet, massaged their gentle way up my legs, and wrapped themselves around my body. The warm hug of love infusing my very soul encasing my eyes and making me blind to the fact that I am now stationary.
The subtle shift in condition from flowing and empowering love to being on hold was so delicate that I failed to notice. I berate myself. I call myself a fool and an idiot, loathing my trusting nature.
I disgust me.
Being on hold allows me the luxury of reflection. To work out how I came into this position. It is the same pattern of relationship played out again and again. The cracked record of my romantic life. Same men, Same relationship. Same trusting self. Same mistakes.
I truly despise me.
Love had freed me up and allowed me to be beautiful again. It allowed my natural song to be sung; sexual and wild. Free flowing and expressive, expansive, inclusive. It de-robed me from a tarnished existence and made me shine again. People noticed. They saw me sparkle, become effervescent.
I became curious once more, keen to explore and understand my body. how it worked, how I came. That had always been a problem, my orgasms. From hurried, selfish lovers who used my body and kindness as some form of masturbatory tool. To me being too generous, placing their needs before my own. I found myself in a situation where I could not come, unable to work out why but the ache and the longing of release being ever present and very real inside me.
It was this that pushed me forward; this that drew me to him. He was the key to unlock the mysteries of my body and mind. that old jaded euphemism, hackneyed, common and worn out but so apt here in my situation. A key and a lock.
And yet here I am locked down again with the same desires. It was my lust that made me realise I was chained yet again. It is not a desire or an ache within my loins that stirs in my now. Rather an energetic force that propels me to movement and makes my shackles chafe. I look at people and try and keep my lustful wolfish smile from my lips. Disguise is my friend. That glint of desperate need in my eyes is not so easy to cover and the more astute amongst my friends see it, a few comment on it.
My desire to fulfil my sexual needs is tangible and heavy, both hot and cold. A weight and the price I pay for loving a married man.
I want to break this bondage, to walk away and set us both free. The old adage of you can't help who you fall in love with is hollow and to subscribe to it means that I am a powerless victim. In my mind I recall the powerful, prowling lioness that I can be and claw at this victim stance. Yet when he calls my name I go to him, compelled because of love.
There is no imminent resolution. No quick fix or snappy answers. Time I know is my true rescuer. Time will help me unlock these chains. Time will empower me to allow them to fall from my body. On the other hand, if I blame time for my emancipation, do I also accuse time for binding me again next time, or do I blame love? I know the person I will blame the most will be me and my humiliating inability to learn from my mistakes.
In the mean time I remain on hold.