Sad

My mind was full of silliness and jealousy.  I was in the car and just about to pull put of my drive when I noticed a car had stopped on the road behind me.

A young woman approached, flustered, and I guessed she was lost.

I wound the window down.

“Hello, do you know if anyone around here had a black cat?”

“Yes, I do “

“I’m really sorry but I’ve just found one by the side of the road. We were just about to take her to the vets to see if she was chipped. She’s got no collar but is a bit chunky and was well loved.”

I start to put the window up before I realise she is still talking and stop myself.

I stop the engine and get out of the car.

Her husband has now also got out the car and he opens the boot. Time slows or quickens – I’m not sure which – but I realise that they’re opening a suitcase and then a blanket and there is my cat not injured but dead.

I yelp and sob. He’s still warm. I pick him up and feel his heavy warmth and soft fur and I cry and cry.

I see that he was hit on the head and take some comfort in the fact that his death must have been instant. I pray silently that his spirit is still around long enough to see how much I love him.

The couple are still talking but there is just noise pain in my head and the sound of my own cries.

They offer to help me bury him and offer to help how they can. I just thank them and say sorry and then I walk into my garden sobbing.

I thank my beautiful, chunky black cat for the years of love and laughter I’ve had with him. He wasn’t old, maybe three. As a six month old rescue kitten, he was lively and energetic. As an adult he was greedy and grumpy but loving.

Only a few days ago, we watched ‘How to Train your Dragon’ as Toothless reminded us of Arlo.

Arlo would bite my calf if I didn’t feed him quick enough. He would grumble if I pushed him off a dining chair to sit down. He would sneak upstairs and lie on our beds. I once caught him eating cake even though his cat dish was full. He’d twitch his tail and open his mouth to show his teeth when you annoyed him. I’m covered in scars on my hands where he used to love me by clinging on to my hand and arm with four claws and teeth.

He was grumpy and sassy and oh so loved.

I will you miss you Arlo. God Bless.

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Love and Letters and Laughter

Valentines is coming and I have things to say. Important things that are lodged in my heart, crying out to be heard.

I miss his joking and laughter.

So why wait? I can disguise my need to speak with Valentine’s, my cunning mind decides.

Using “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus’ chapter 10 on love letters, I begin

I tell him how angry and sorry I am for my recent behaviour. I tell him how scared I am to lose him.

And then, I tell him everything I love about him. I pour my heart into my words with the sole purpose of showing my appreciation and love of who he is and my gratitude for all he has done. And, I acknowledge his situation and end with a promise that I understand and I will wait.

I then faff about with a heart background and send it in an email.

I have no idea how often he checks his account, but I figure in the next week or two he will find it. I vow not to mention it until Valentine’s Day, either way.

Five minutes later he calls: he’s on his nightly walk.

Except…he asks about the letter. I laugh and tell him i didnt exoect him to find it and that it was for Valentine’s Day. For a moment he questions me panic stricken, until i reasure his its not for another 9 days.

I change the topic and gabble on about my day, but at thw first opportunity he asks me to read it to him as he comments it is long and he doesn’t think he will understand it. I tell him that he could translate it easy enough but I do tell him it contains apologies, thanks and lots of love.

He’s quiet for the rest of the walk, but then, that’s how he’s been the last week or so. I silently pray that when he finally reads the letter, things will change. I realise he is probably wondering about it.

The latter part of the walk is silent, bar the noise of the street and his occasional cough. I’ve ran out of things to say and he is just quiet.

Once in the house, he turns on the camera and sits to drink tea with his parents.

But first, he starts to read the letter. Aloud.

“Stop stop stop!! No no no, don’t read it out!!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s everything in my heart.”

But instead he continues, commenting first on its two page length with a glimmer in his eye, and starts to read it in funny voices, thus hiding its content from his parents who barely understand English anyway.

And I laugh as he reads, covering my blushes with my hands and my t shirt. I relish in his happiness and his humour again.

He pauses at various parts to comment, and even tells his mum what he is reading.

“Well that’s not right, you didn’t hurt me. I hurt you.”

And although I continue to laugh, inside my mind race’s. Is that what he thinks? The book talks about how, when a woman explains her feelings, men immediately see that as a failure on their part – that they’ve done something wrong. Is that why he’s been quiet? Not because I hurt him, but because he feels like he hurt me? Failed me?

I don’t know how much of the letter he understood. Probably less than half, with reading it in a funny voice, my laughter and his parents questions. But all I know is, he was happy he got the letter regardless, happy that I had written so much and for that time, he was himself. He came back to me.

Knowing him, he has read it again since. I hope he has.

I need his love and laughter back.

Beginnings and ends, part 1

Today I am in no man’s land, numb. Makes a change, I guess.

I’ve spent the last 6 days in bed on the whole . Covid has wiped me out.

My last post was in a moment of uplifting. It didn’t last.

So this…from this point on, is either the beginning of the end or, the end and a new beginning. And whilst I am not in complete control, my decisions from this point could potentially sway it either way.

I’ve really hurt and upset him this time.

He’s not faultless, no. But my reactions and my irresponsible method of dealing with everything…well, that has caused this issue.

Let me tell you what happened.

Two days ago, I was feeling a little better – not needing to sleep all day, just pockets of it. At one such semi-awake moment, I decided to get my laptop to watch something as I had uncomfortably survived with my phone the day before.

As it was loading, I realised that I hadn’t used it since before my trip to see Wildcard. Sure enough, as it started, Messenger opened.

In the week leading up to Christmas, I’d had an issue with my phone draining when I plugged in the charger. This had led me to downloading the app on my laptop. The issue, is that I hadn’t deactivated the status button.

If I see someone is online but hasn’t read my message, it unnerves me – and that goes for anyone, not just Wildcard. Admittedly, in the early start of a relationship, I find this particularly hard. With him, to be fair, there have been very rare occasions when he hasn’t replied quickly. He always replies and usually in a good time. But, undeniably, not being able to see when he is active has helped me manage my expectations of this. It’s been turned off for over three years and for good reason.

So, the Messenger screen opened automatically as I clearly hadn’t shut it down before Christmas, and I could see that he’d been active 15 minutes ago. He’d last spoken to me over an hour before.

It shouldn’t matter, should it? Who am I to dictate who he speaks to and how? But, when that shock rolls through your body and you feel sick and scared, you’re not thinking of that.

I shut the laptop and stewed a little. He uses his sim/normal phone to message and call his parents and work colleagues and main friends. One brother uses WhatsApp to call. The other does use Messenger but not at this time of day, usually in the evening.

Listen to me trying to justify and catalogue what was normal! But that is what I did.

So then the adrenalin built, my negative thinking built and collected and spiralled. Who was he speaking to?

I opened up the laptop again. He was now active again. He was supposed to be in work.

I franatically searched for alternatives. If he was on Facebook, would this mean that it would show as active even if he’s not on Messenger?

I’m building desperation, I messaged my married friend. I knew that if he called me anytime soon, this irrational behaviour would just burst out. I didn’t even want to speak to him at this point.

She was calm, she was rational. She went through the unreliability of using that little green button as proof from her own experiences, as well as pointing out that it could literally be anyone.

I calmed a little but my head was buzzing. I decided to journal.

It was the worst thing I could have done. I wrote him a non-letter. I poured out every anxiety and fear, everything I worried about and kept inside – even things I haven’t written on here. By the end of it, instead of making me feel calmer, I felt worst. I’d built a spiky defence of accusation and hurt around myself, not released the demon thoughts into the ether. Everything negative was now up front and centre in my head. I even tried to counteract by writing a positive one but I couldn’t, the negativity was now like a loaded gun.

Yes, I did keep checking. I watched him go offline and later come back on again.

I managed to keep hold of myself when he called after work. Maybe still having Covid helped hide what was threatening underneath.

Unfortunately, when we had a usual evening call, that was not the case.

For me.

I’ve done it again, but this time it wasn’t my fault. I wrote and redrafted a post five days ago. And then I left it to check and post later. But whenever I do that, as with this time, I forget about it and don’t post it. I have a large number of unpublished but finished posts like that.

That’s why, often, my posts are published and they have mistakes. I will read them through of course but – as I was taught in Uni – if the writing is fresh, your eyes will read what your brain planned, ignoring the mistakes. Therefore, you won’t pick up all the mistakes just the glaring ones. This is where ‘fresh eyes’ come in- someone new to check, or leaving it a few days.

On this occasion, Covid is to blame. Oh yes. I’ve got it again. I’m now on my third day in bed and have a lovely crop of coldsores appearing around my nose for good measure.

And yet, I am pleasantly spritely. Why, I hear you ask?

Possibly, cabin fever. Maybe, I’m so well rested, I’m happy? No, I was really ill and only the last few hours have I started to feel well.

My last, unpublished post was a different matter. I talked about how flat I felt. How I have lost hope.

By stopping the obsessive thoughts about my future with Wildcard, I’d actually removed my hope for them too. So, by taking away all thoughts of them – by focusing on just the present- I’d removed the negative but all the positive too. I felt flat and well…everything is pointless. It’s what happens when you have no direction.

I know, I know. I obsess about him in general. My posts are mainly about him. I don’t know how to change that. My career is a distant, painful memory. I’m floundering in a present with no direction – the only thing I’m certain about, is that I want him.

Anyway.

Back to now. What has changed today?

I can’t tell you exactly. But I will try.

1) I watched a great Netflix series. Something I was genuinely interested in. Why is this important? Because having fun, particularly on your own, is important for your happiness. I’ve realised I do very little which is fun.

2) I called my ex-tutee and his family today to catch up. It was lovely speaking to him. Made me remember I have done some good in this world, even when I didn’t feel my best.

3) Despite not getting paid for this week, I’m getting more money than I thought. Hopefully, I will be ok.

4) Someone helped me this week – showed me a true and genuine kindness that I will never forget. It has come at a time of need financially and personally. And it felt like a gift from my Dad.

5) I’ve started Tony Robbins’ free five day challenge. Although it’s been pretty similar to a previous challenge I’ve done of his, it’s had a real positive effect on my thinking. That is what I need.

6) I spoke to a counselling service today who have offered me some support. I’m lacking someone to talk to, to help me process my overthinking. Counselling and CBT can help.

7) I realised something. In the three years of my relationship, we’ve dealt with Covid, my career going down the drain along with my confidence, me being over-emotional and everything else in between. He’s still here. He’s still loving me and calling me. I’m not my best and he’s still here.

As Tony Robbins says, what happens in life is for you not to you.

Do I really want wildcard here, when the rest of my life isn’t ready? No. Life is giving me a chance to sort myself out because that is the right thing to do whatever the outcome of my LDR.

As Tony says, I’m in the winter. A life cycle has ended for me. Winter can be long but underneath the surface, bulbs are starting to sprout and trees are storing energy for those glorious leaves again. I feel flat because I’ve not yet set my course, my direction….the ones I can choose.

Well, I’m going to. And I’m going to do it for me.

Trip 6, Day 10: home

Five days late in posting. My apologies!

I’m at the Gate, waiting to board my last flight home.

The flight to Spain took just over an hour. On reflection, travel wise it has added nothing as today’s flight is still 3 hours – wait, no, it’s actually saved me the three hours train journey. I will land at my local airport and will be home within half an hour.

Just like that.

Just like that, I’m back to normal. And with that sentiment, a heavy heavy weight descends on my chest.

The Hostal was simple but sufficient. I’d spoken to him briefly in the airport but I was a little lost at that time, unable to find a cash point or taxi rank (note to self, ATMs in the airport are extortionate and most taxis offer card payments 🧐). When I arrived 20 minutes later, I called him. He was tired but checked I was OK. I searched his face for…something. If he felt anything at this time, it was hidden.

I spent the rest of the evening messaging my married friend and she consoled me, kindly. But, she also said this trip needed some analysis. I needed to get control of my own future. When the time was right, we would discuss everything. She would consult her husband surreptitiously, and gain insight from a man of Wildcard’s age and culture.

As we parted I commented: if all was good, I wouldn’t need their advice, would I?

*******

I slept relatively well. I woke in the night too hot as I had blasted the slow heating to full as the room was freezing when I had arrived. By 3am, I was roasting.

This morning, I finally woke at 8.30am – around the time Wildcard would come to me, and I felt an ache like no other. I considered that he was probably still sleeping and took the time to reflect in the calm, quiet of a morning alone in a Spanish Hotel.

Within half an hour, I was ready to message. He called within minutes.

I was still searching, of course. Still searching for signs that he felt like I do. He looked tired, yes. Asking never works, but of course, I tried. We were on the phone for some time and I asked again to ‘tell me something good’. He joked, with the melodramatic voice he gives me in these situations, that he hadn’t slept thinking about me. That he was hurting because I was not there, that he couldn’t breathe. I don’t know if any of what he said was true. I only know that was how I felt. We said goodbye and I made myself get up, wipe my tears and go out. I walked the quiet streets and eventually stopped at a popular cafe for freshly squeezed orange juice and amazing coffee. Unfortunately, there were no gluten free options but I enjoyed sipping and watching the many sparrows darting so close to me for scraps.

I walked a little more and visited a supermarket to buy Spanish sweets for my children. Eventually, I made my way back and repacked and showered. I thought some more.

As I finish this post, I have completed another one too. It contains my reflections and real heartfelt soul searching – not just about Wildcard, but more importantly about myself.

Trip 6, Day 9

So, I’m here again, sat alone in the airport with nothing but my bags and my sorrow.

We awoke late, no doubt exhausted from the emotions and poor sleep. But our love making was passionate and intense and beautiful. His throw-away comment afterwards, not so much.

Whilst I can’t deny that I want him all the time – I’ve never felt anything like it – is certainly isn’t all I want ‘every time’.

I remained quiet and snuggled closer. He was soon more relaxed himself. At this point, I attempt to talk, whilst he was so distracted by his game. A cunning strategy, I thought.

I told him that I was truly sorry for my constant tears and that I wasn’t sure myself why I behaved like that. I told him how much I loved him and that the only thing I knew; each time I was scared he didn’t want me. That’s what they all had in common, somehow. He didn’t say much but he listened. I soon hit his limit and, content I’d said the most important things, decided to try to make the best of the rest of the day together before I left.

We stayed in bed a long time, watching things on his phone. At one point, he got up to tell me that he was thinking of going to work. I stayed silent. He went out the room came back within moments and got back in bed. I knew the ice had broken some what when he showed me videos from his YouTube channel of ten years ago, laughing to himself.

The rest of the day passed in relaxing, tears and me desperately trying to combat the pain in my chest and the shaking of my hands.

I packed my bags. We had dinner. Then, we went to his room – no longer mine – and he took me in his arms to kiss and hold me. When I cried, he exclaimed that I wasn’t really leaving him, he would be there on the phone as always. When I told him, “but it’s not this” he looked away, and I swear at this point there was emotion he was trying to hide. My married friend told me her husband only admitted how much he was upset by her leaving years later – how he had hidden it to be strong for her. In reality, he cried and was as upset as her. I can only hope. He may also have been thinking, ‘thank goodness it’s not like this all the time’ but even I doubt that.

And I doubt that because of his behaviour in the airport. Me, thinking just rip the plaster off and I will get going, him being surprised and asking, “you’re going?” The way he looked in my eyes when I finally dragged them to his. The way he grabbed my hand, hidden by our bodies (no pda in this country, remember) when my tears fell yet again. When he gave a quick, lawless kiss and told me he loved me.

So, here I am, sat in the airport. It’s busy, and the light is fading. I’ve actually been able to find a seat and am reluctant to move despite needing to use the restroom.

Don’t think I’m not guilt ridden. I am. Guilty that I wished soo hard that my flight would be cancelled. Guilty that although I miss my children, I would stay longer here if I could (damn you new job). I feel guilty that I cried. I feel guilty that I made his mum cry when I did. I’m guilty that I hurt him.

Trip 6, Day 8

I was tired this morning and I’m not sure why as I slept well. Maybe it’s all the overthinking – that has to take up some energy.

He came, we cuddled. In those moments, just lying there as I often am, you really relish the soft touch of his lips on your cheek; the strength of his arms around you or the sensual touch of bare feet on bare feet. It’s my favourite time, even if there was no love-making, like this morning.

After breakfast, I showered and then we took another stroll on his roof terrace. The sun was bright and warm and I love chatting with him up there. He told me we would be going to his city that afternoon.

We’ve been to the city about three times across my trips. Today though, we did more of the touristy things. Being a Friday, a lot of the shops and market stalls were closed, but enough were open to make it enjoyable – more so because with less stalls and less people, you could really get a feel for the place. We saw three of the main historical and architectural wonders his city is famed for and we took some beautiful pictures. It was good to be out in the sunshine too.

I was surprised and really touched when he bought me some beautiful leather sandals from the market and enjoyed watching the sunset as we drove home. Stopping to buy my favourite fruit from a farmer on the way home- even though they were expensive – was also a kind thought.

We were soon home and eating a delicious dinner. His parents soon went to bed but, unlike last night, there was no tension or undecision of what to do. It was my last night so we were staying up.

Not long after his parents left, I leant over his knees and asked for kiss. Then I told him I needed one. Either way, I didn’t get. He was engrossed in deleting old photos from his Google account making room for the beautiful photos we had taken that day. Being the high-maintenance craze-pot that I am, I of course was a little nettled by that. There was a little banter back and forth and eventually the phone was put down and the teasing commenced. Like the previous night, he would beckon me forward and, when I did, would exclaim that I misunderstood. After a while and under threat of me sitting back down in my place at his feet, he took to holding me there by my clothes or hair, an amused gleam to his eye (which I will freely admit now that I love) and a smile on his face.

Never to be outdone or skimp on the jesting, round two involved him pressing his lips together most invitingly for a kiss, then moving away when I tried. I’d ‘give up’, he’d hold me in place and then it would start again.

Round three was war of the noses. He’d let me close enough so our noses touched but that’s it. Amusing yes. Frustrating, ridiculously. Enough so…you guessed it by this point I emotionally couldn’t see the funny side and as ‘this is the last evening you will have time kiss me for 5 months’ screamed through my head, obliterating all sense and reason, I started to cry. AGAIN.

At this, he pushed his lips to mine and his kisses were…out of this world. He was generally shocked by my crying AGAIN, I can’t understand why, as that it pretty much all I’ve done. He asked, did I not like his playing? Which I replied, I did, but I guess the blubbering mess of my face suggested otherwise. I told him I loved him and then,

“Do you hate me?’ One because he had every right to and two, because that was what he said to me most of all – his way of professing his love in a way that I only know and he can pretend he hasn’t just blurted his heart out.

“No.” His voice was deep and emotion tinged and I lifted my head up in surprise to look at him.

“No? Tell me you love me then.”

And he did, although I didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked away right before the end. So close though.

After more beautiful kisses, I decided I emotionally couldn’t cope any more. I got up and got us both some water. Placing his bottle on his table, I turned to go and saw such a look of pain in his face. He was surprised I was going and looked genuinely hurt. I’ve never, ever seen that look before. I lay back down with him and he held me. He said he didn’t understand me. We hugged, we kissed, and soon it was time for me to go. He didn’t get up to walk me to bed.

I went into my room, sat down, and let it all out. Why do I keep doing this? Why do I ruin everything? He’d be better off without me.

After a moment, I went to the bathroom to clean up but then I went back to him.

He made room and I held him. He said again, “I don’t know why you do that. Why do you cry every night?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m not good for you.”

“OK.. so..” and that was all he said. He buried his face into my neck and we just held each other, his sentence unfinished…mine missing.

Before long, he roused enough to tell me to go to bed. He walked me to my door, kissed me, and said he loved me.

I didn’t sleep well, as usual. I woke a number of times, full of self loathing and fear. I’d never seen him so hurt before, so dejected. What could I say? How can I explain?

At 4.30am, I admitted defeat and went to the bathroom. As I walked through the hallway, I thought I heard the TV on from his room, but on the way back it was quiet. I lay back in bed, trying not to imagine he hadn’t wanted me to know he was awake. Either way, I needed to try to sleep.

Within moments though the door opened and he asked me to switch on the lamp. He told me he had had bad dreams and now couldn’t sleep. He crawled into bed beside me, and locked me within his arms. Before long, he was asleep and I lay there, thinking of course.

I barely wanted to move in case he left. Time passed by and eventually, I too fell asleep.

Trip 6, Day 7 – 10pm

True to his word, around 10pm when he heard one of his parents, he had got up bleary-eyed and mussed-haired. He checked the time, kissed me and said goodnight then left.

After some time being consoled by my friend and being brought back down to earth, I calmed. But of course I didn’t sleep well.

I woke a number of times, wondering what time it was, wondering how things would be in the morning. I also had my first school dream of the New Year – I start my new job on Monday. In my dream I was lost but kept finding ex pupils who wanted to speak to me. There was a moment of me climbing through a window, escorted by my agency manager, as I tried to get to my new classroom.

Eventually, I woke at 8.30am. I made my morning rituals and fully expected him to not come in until later. He came in before 9am.

I attempt to apologise but he shushed me, held me, and took out his phone. We lay, cuddling for some time.

It was not forgotten though. As we waited for breakfast, he joked that he was going to tell his mum that I thought she went to bed too early. I didn’t like that.

He didn’t tell her but I was a little quiet of breakfast, tired from the poor sleep and the nerves.

Today, he didn’t go to work. We’ve had a nice day relaxing and spent some time on the roof terrace, goofing about. We had a dinner for two as his mum was fasting and dad was out. He blew me kisses throughout the day which made me smile.

By the evening, I was again a little contemplative. At some point, I will need to write this all down. But not now.

As the sun went down, his mum invited to me to eat with her. I wasn’t hungry but I felt she didn’t want to eat alone so joined her. I didn’t eat much, but I think she appreciated me being there.

Then there was tea. I knew what was coming and had no real plan of how to play this. As always, once finished, his mother and father went to bed. There was then silence in our room, other than the TV.

Part of me considered just going to bed (it was 8pm) but then I’d have just made last night seem like it hadn’t mattered. But I also didn’t want to force him to stay up.

Eventually, he put his phone and cup down and beckoned me to him. He teased me for some time, frustrating the hell out of me, but also gave me sweet sweet kisses.

Just after 9pm, I decided to admit defeat and told him I would let him sleep. We tidied away, and I waited for him to say goodnight by the window in my bedroom.

He came in and stood with me, arm around my waist and looking out into the night before smacking my bottom in jest.

I sat on the bed and he joined me, leaning in for a kiss and then tormenting me by pulling away, repeatedly.

He joked that I must be asking myself, why do I have this crazy boyfriend even as my heart is happy. I told him no, that is not what I think. After prompting I whispered, “I ask myself, why am I not good enough?” I don’t even know where that came from and I was as surprised as him except….I know it holds the truth.

He didnt try to discuss that with me for long. Seeing the raw emotion I felt, instead he kissed me gently over and over and over. But before long we were kissing passionately and not long after that, making love.

He left me just after 10pm.

Trip 6, Day 6 – highs and lows

He came early this morning. I sprang up from bed delighted, like a child, and he joked that I should ‘stay back’. He grabbed his customary chocolate that I brought – for his sweet tooth, to sweeten his breath or for energy I’m never sure. He then got into bed. No phone…

He held me. I held him. And I let my hands wander and touch and caress – not for him as such, but selfishly because I want to commit every millimetre to memory. Although, he did enjoy it, obviously. We made love and after he held me again. I can’t get enough of him. I once read something – a poem perhaps – where the narrator said they wanted to crawl inside their loved one so they would be with them always. I found the analogy bizarre when I read it, and a little gross. But I get it now.

My soul craves his. 
My skin needs his. 
I want to melt into him -
For we are one. 

I’m unashamed when I say I enjoy sex. But this is not about sex. When we make love, I am as close to him as I possibly can be and that is what I want. I want him and his love to consume me – my body, my love, my heart and soul. That is what making love truly is and I can honestly say I have never felt like this with any other man in my whole life.

Eventually, it was time for breakfast. He was a little distracted and rushed to head out to work. As his parents and I were still eating, there was no goodbye kiss but as yesterday, I watched as he went to leave. Hidden by the wall, he turned and with humour in his eyes, blew me a dramatic kiss out of sight of his parents. And as the door closed behind him, his face was in the closing space and he gave me another and I smiled, openly and happily.

******

Today, I was lucky as he was able to come home for dinner. It was a nice surprise and broke up the day. He went back to work after of course, and in a change of routine I lay down on the bed.

I spent the remaining hours until he came home reading past posts from the time we met. It was eye opening. There was so much I had forgotten.

But it’s more than that. You can read how steadily, I fall in love with him. You see my inner conflict and fear as I combat the negativity of people I once called friends. You see my growing excitement, anticipation and anxiety as my first trio looms. Interestingly, now from a distance, you can see him falling in love with me and being equally as nervous. It was a wonderful thing to re-read and experience it all.

At this point, he came home. Finding me lying on the bed, he too broke routine and joined me. We watched a TV show together and he made me laugh. I listened as he repeated the English dubover of his Korean show and felt heartwarmed that he was trying to improve his English this way.

All too soon, we were called for tea. And all too soon after that, we were getting ready for bed.

After the usual rituals of goodnight, kisses, then washing my face, brushing teeth etc, I got into bed and picked up my phone to see…it was 8pm.

8pm

I was shocked. Don’t get me wrong, I know he is exhausted and I also know he goes to bed early. But 8pm? Really?

So, I did my usual. Allowed myself to stew and then messaged. I didn’t say much, honest. Just expressed my…surprise…at the time. He offered for me to go sit with him but, no. I cut my nose off to spite my face and told him: ‘It’s OK, forget.’

Within moments, he was with me. He told me he would stay until 10pm, my usual bedtime back home. Any protests by me were ignored. He cuddled in, shut his eyes and went to sleep.

I tried, a couple of times to wake him and tell him to go. He ignored me. So I lay for some time feeling like the worst girlfriend in the world. And then, surprisingly, no doubt shrouded in the warmth of his loving arms and acceptance, I too slept a little.

Trip 6, Day 5 – waiting

Today has been a little different.

It started the same although Wildcard came to me a little later. Not that I was clock watching or anything. Whilst still being his jesting self, I’ve noted that he is paying attention to my needs with a keen eye and held me much longer today when he saw I needed it.

After breakfast and his departure (apparently my half hearted suggestion that he stay with me was something out of a romantic film. Boo.) I sat and did a bit of home housekeeping with emails and checking my online banking. No sooner had I done that, than my ex messaged asking for money. I said OK, as I usually do, but then sat stewing for half an hour before sending a rather long irate text. His attempts to pacify me were poor to say the least. My attempts to be calm even less so.

I need to cut more ties. I know it and so does everyone else. His need for financial support still, five years later is now just frustrating. Even more so because for the past 18 months, I haven’t had the same money I used to. Frustratingly of course, I took the leadership job in September to help with this situation: higher pay to get to a point where he can be taken off the mortgage I pay, and therefore he has no hold or threat over me anymore.

As one of my New Year’s reflections was a real desire to get a much better handle on my finances, I spent some time this morning in subtle planning and exploring. I want to get to a point where no penny is uncounted for.

Wildcard’s beautiful inscribed gift with ‘my wife’ on has given me some more hope that some point soon we will finally marry. I’ve thought this deep down for a while, and it’s not that he hasn’t already said this, but I think he has probably considered me his wife for some time. For him, the paperwork is a legality only needed if and when he decides he is ready to move to the UK with me. I suspect for the time-being, he’s actually quite happy with the arrangement.

And I understand why. I spent the afternoon in the kitchen with his mother. She showed me how she cooks some of her amazing, traditional dishes. We talked, albeit stiltingly, of her traditional role. He is well looked after and cared for, is providing the role of an elder son exactly as his culture and religion state. He has a career, a car…a life. I’m part of that life every single day with the multiple calls we have. He is not after a visa – whilst the UK is appealing, he has much more to lose here than many of his fellow natives who seek a foreign marriage. He has little desire to leave his parents, potentially give up his job and car, and move to a cold wet country where the culture is so different to his.

But I do know he loves me. I just still don’t know if it is enough, if I am enough, for him to give up on what he has.

His parents are wonderful and I love them dearly. I can’t pretend I don’t feel pangs of guilt at my hopes of dragging their son away. I wish there was another solution but there isn’t. In the past I’ve suggested us marrying but waiting some time for a visa – for me, it will give us more flexibility on our visits and I am happy with that for now. He doesn’t see it that way, so I will have to wait a little longer.

*****

I wrote this earlier with some resigned acceptance. Whilst it is not what I want – I want to be with him as closely and as often as I can – I do understand the situation and ironically love him for it

Unfortunately, subconsciously, this must have lodged somewhere. Like an annoying sticky bob seed.

Later that day – a day that passed by so quickly as I talked with his mother – he came home and there was joy in his voice as he greeted me. We ate and then I watched his daily ritual of preparing the sofa to relax – moving cushions, getting his water and phone charger, getting the warm blanket – and was heart warmed as I noticed him prepare my area too.

I soon joined him, his feet in my lap as always, my hand touching his skin. He plays on his game, I read on my phone. The last few nights, his mother has joined us too – making her own little snug opposite us blanket covering her and phone in hand. We’ve laughed as Wildcard has danced or done one of the many jesting things he does that makes me love him. During this time, he turned and asked what time I was leaving on Saturday. A simple question and no doubt as they were discussing plans as Wildcard is hoping to take the day off.

But it lodged in my heart. It found the sticky-bob seed of resignation and inflamed it. I started counting the days left, particularly as I had calculated that at best he would only work Thursday morning and take the rest off.

I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t.

I worked out that, with his brother coming Feb and Ramadan in April, I would not be seeing him until at least June. Five months away, again. And that thought, along with “I don’t want to leave him” is like an automatic push button on my tears. I turned my head and tears fell.

I was careful. No sobbing or weeping. No body heaving. But he knows, as he always knows.

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

I moved his strategically placed pillow and crept up so I was now resting in my place, on his chest. He asked why I was upset and I explained. He hadn’t considered how events would prevent my visit until the summer. But he spoke of us traveling again, south this time if I wanted. He joked I could try to fit him in my suitcase but then remembered his gift and reminded me that was what it was for.

(My waterworks have started again)

And then, I just lay in his arms and he held me – longer than I thought he would – until I was calm again.

Once in bed of course, I started again. I messaged my friend and she reminisced on the times she had felt this way when her relationship was long distance. It’s normal, unfortunately. There’s nothing to quite compare to the anguish of knowing you will go back to waiting. Even when you are soul brimmingly happy, as I am.