Believe me, I don’t want to be.
It would be a lot easier if I wasn’t.
You’ve got another life now. I’m long out of it.
Your voice. Ugh. It slays me. I still have five of your messages in my Voicemail. Yes, five. Some guys like a nice glass of Scotch to relax. I just listen to one of your messages. It’s just as smooth and warm, and just as intoxicating.
Your eyes, like a sea of honesty. They seem to see miles into the distance. Through the bullshit in front of you. Through the bullshit in me. Through the miasma of the ordinary and into the beautiful possibility of what can be. The what can be that I was once a part of.
Your mouth. So infinitely kissable. I can’t shake it from my memory, so help me.
The way you bit your mouth when you were being coy. Oh. My. God.
Your beautiful mind. So full of insight and wisdom. Dropping truth bombs wherever they may land.
Your ass. Sorry, but it was fantastic. (Still is, I’m sure.)
The way you love your kids. Yes, you already had them, which scared me a bit, but I was prepared to find that in the girl of my dreams. And you were so natural, joyful and graceful with them. I knew how easy it would be to trust you as a mom.
Your honesty. Fearless. Unending. Willing to walk away if unwelcome.
You came out of nowhere. Where were you countless years before we met? How could you just show up one day after being invisible for so long? In a random email I almost ignored?
Your priorities. You are not distracted by day-to-day bullshit. Or rather, you are simply able to see through it. You have a periscope, through which I would love to gaze.
The way you’d give me shit. There was no sugarcoating with you. If I needed to be called out on something, you wouldn’t hesitate in a millisecond. But you could do it with a laugh.
Your vulnerability. You were so unabashed, so devoted and unafraid of so many things, but yet there’s a shyness in you. An opened and exposed beauty. A willingness to be seen for all you truly are.
The way you never wore makeup. And with a glowing smile like that, you never needed it.
The way you could wear a pair of jeans. So haphazard and sexy at the same time.
Your spontaneity. Instant. Alive. Awake. So in love with the possibilities of what could be. What we could have created together if the stars had been aligned.
The way you’d swear. Constant. Dependable. Honest.
How consumed I was with you. I couldn’t wait for another bit of contact. A call. An email. A text. A kiss. The time between was interminably long. Minutes became years. I never get addicted easily. I’m an island of independence. But I wanted to leave it for you.
Meet me in another universe, one far different from this one. I’ll gladly show you what 530 words failed to convey.
This was originally posted on The Good Men Project on December 19, 2013.
Author—Mark Radcliffe is a writer living in New York City. He has a weakness for bourbon, jazz and girls who can drive stick. You can read more of his essays here: www.theradcliffescrolls.tumblr.com and http://markradcliffe.com.