Distance.

I didn't plan for it to happen when I left the house. The quietness of it had been making me more and more restless throughout the day. There is something almost choking about a place left behind. Something haunting about being the one remaining. It was actually better in the beginning when all the memories were fresh. When your toothbrush was still on the sink. When your magazines still laid on the coffee table and the sheets still smelled of your hair. Eventually I moved your toothbrush into the cupboard, put away the dated magazines, stored your reminiscence in boxes and pushed them into the far corner of the garage.
Your scent had faded long before that.

Now being left in what used to be our home leaves me anxious and uncomfortable. Then today I had to get away. I started the car without any specific intention of where to go. I didn't care much as long as it was away from this place. Away from the dusty, shred off life still clinging to it.

I drove around for a while. Without any music playing, passing monuments of our shared history. The alley in which we first kissed, the restaurant that gave us both food poisoning, the store you made me to go into to buy a new tie, the jewelry store I secretly sneaked into to look at engagement rings. General places that will forever hold memories of our time together. Thinking back on it, I wonder why they didn't affect me more today. I know they used to. But their sight no longer stirred an emotional reaction. They were empty to me. Maybe I should have turned around upon that realization but fact is I didn't. I contemplated eating somewhere or just getting coffee. But I couldn't get myself to really stop and stand still.

Until eventually I ended up in front of her door. I am sure that somehow I was very aware of how I got there and what intentions I had. There has always been this intriguing attraction towards her. Something I felt drawn to. I can't tell if it is her physique or maybe her mind after all. It never mattered enough to me to figure out the details of whatever it was we had. There has never been a need for definitions and terms full of unintended meaning. My attraction to her has always been different than that to you. I love you for who you are - I want her for what she represents.

It felt good to see her again. It was nice to have someone to talk to so far from trivial routines. She still knows me better than I would ever admit. It didn't matter how long I hadn't seen her because in the end she was very much aware of my reason for coming. We talked, we shared tea. It was pleasantly civil. The idea of indulging in these ceremonies although neither one of us had to have a doubt what it would all inevitably lead up to. But it was just enough for me not to feel like the desperate, sad man I was. And still am.

I remember how I let my hand rest on her thigh. Her intricate smile. It was all the invitation I needed to lean forward and kissed her forcefully, no time for false shyness. Then she ran her hand through my hair, pulling it, and pushed me into the direction of her bedroom and stopping never crossed my mind.
It was good. Rough, simple and satisfying. Nothing to hide and nothing to pretend.
The way I remembered it.

It felt freeing to be with her. Her experience, her very deliberate actions. It had been years and she still knew in what way to touch me. Maybe in the end all men are just the same. Maybe I saw an intimacy I know from our bedroom. Maybe I don't really remember. Maybe illusion is the finest of all pleasures after all.

What is certain however is that I did not think of you once.

The moment I stepped back inside it occurred to me that you will never find out. She would never tell you. It wouldn't benefit her in any way so she has no interest in it.
And what good would it be for me to bring it up? What good would it be for either one of us? This is not a matter of honesty. I know that if you were to ever ask me I would tell you the truth. But you never will. And neither will I.

None of this changes the fact that I love you. I loved you always and I will not stop. This was not about love and maybe not even passion. It was something I did for myself and nothing more.

This was something I needed. Something that was good for me and helped me. It allowed me to be someone else. Someone who was not deserted and left in the dark. Although I assume it made me that exactly.

It was something you can't give me. You are a long way from home. A long way from me. It has changed things. In whatever way things ever truly change. Enough for me not to miss you as much anymore.

I will continue to want you back. To make this place a home again. And I am sure it will happen. Not today and maybe not tomorrow. But we will be able to sort things out and be ourselves again.

As I drop the keys on the kitchen counter, my eyes wander to that old photograph of us on the refrigerator. Taken at a time so very far away from all of this. We look happy in it.

The cynical words of Oscar Wilde cross my mind: A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her.

With a crooked smile I try not to believe it.