June 2015
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FOP doesn't belong to me.
I'm married to a man I do not know.
The large green eyes that used to look upon me with such pure love and adoration now cling hideously to the bodies of women more pretty than I—human, alien, and fairy alike. He makes no distinction.
The voice that used to softly and gently proclaim his love for me now cuts me deeply with its sharp tone, hurling nothing but insults and hurtful comments in my direction. The laugh that used to be so light and carefree, and once filled me with such happiness and warmth, now sends icy slivers into my heart, because it is no longer innocent. It is harsh, filled with tiny barbs meant to increase the impact of his most recent insult.
The hands that used to be so soft and gentle as they tenderly pulled me into his embrace now barely touch me, choosing instead to clutch tightly to a small chunk of metal. A nickel now sleeps where I once did.
My husband no longer loves me, and I have no idea why.
I'm not even truly sure how or when this all started. We've been together a long time, and had become comfortable enough to trade playful insults and barbs with each other. Our love was strong, so a little teasing meant nothing. I'd call him stupid, he'd call me a nag, but the words were meaningless, tossed about because that was what the stereotype said a married couple did. It was playful because we both knew the truth—that the insulter didn't actually mean it about the insultee.
But now . . . now I'm not so sure.
Lately, the 'playful insults' are sounding more . . . intentional. And they're coming a lot more frequently than they used to, usually said at inappropriate times—ie, in front of strangers, during emotionally tense scenes, etc. I used to be able to pass it off as simply Cosmo being Cosmo, but the intensity of his insults is increasing—both in frequency and hurtful intent—and that's something the man I married would have never done.
Cosmo may be a lot of things, but 'mean' isn't one of them.
At least . . . he didn't used to be.
The Cosmo I married was a kind, loving, sweet fairy who would have given me the moon had I asked for it. The Cosmo I married very often put my wants and desires before his own, no matter how many times I asked him not to. "I love you, Wanda," he'd tell me. "I want you to be happy. If you're happy, then I'm happy!" Then he would smile in that wonderfully adorable way that would melt my heart and make me forget whatever it was we were talking about.
The Cosmo I married used to love to see me smile, and would never be so nonchalant when it came to my feelings.
So why is he acting like this? Has he become bored with me? Being married for nearly 9,900 years could begin to take its toll on ANYONE, and with Cosmo being the way he is, perhaps boredom is one of the main reasons for his actions. Lord knows that seeing the same face for all these years sometimes gets to me, and I have a stronger resolve than he. So yes, boredom does seem to be a pretty logical theory.
But do I accept that as an explanation for all that's been happening between us?
No. I don't.
And I can't.
Cosmo's actions as of late aren't simply the actions of a man who has become bored in his relationship. I know how Cosmo acts when he gets bored, and he doesn't get mean. No, this 'new Cosmo' is not a result of boredom.
If I didn't know better, I'd think he was under someone or something else's control, and was being forced to change like this. Why else would he have undergone such a seemingly rapid and mind-boggling personality change?
Where my clumsy, childlike, slightly scatterbrained husband once stood, a callous, hurtful, and oftentimes mean fairy has appeared. He pelts me with insults and ogles curvier females, all the while insinuating that I trapped him in this marriage. It would be kind of funny if it weren't actually happening to me and the man I gave my heart to.
Oh, wait. No it wouldn't. Because it's not funny to take the once strong bond between two people and so totally and completely violate it. That's how I feel right now—violated. I gave my heart, my very soul to Cosmo, and to suddenly have my love flung back into my face in the form of insults—most of which were the 'playful' insults we had exchanged in happier times—is worse than anything else that has ever happened to me.
I almost wish he would simply tell me he doesn't love me anymore. It would be less painful in the long run.
A small voice in my head whispers to me, telling me to have it out with him, to stand up for myself and let him have it. "You've never let anyone talk to you or treat you like this in your life," it whispers urgently, "Don't start now!" I muffle the voice and keep quiet as the man who said "I do!" all those years ago tosses another insult my way. He laughs, and I clamp my teeth together to hold back a scream. Or a sob. I never know which would come if I allowed it.
The voice is wrong, you see. The truth is I HAVE allowed myself to be treated like this in the past, and all for the sake of love.
My father, Big Daddy himself, used to control just about every aspect of my life, from where I went to who I dated. I never liked it, but couldn't stand up to him because I loved him and didn't want to hurt his feelings or disappoint him.
When he 'suggested' I date Juandissimo Magnifico, I did so without hesitation. Juandissimo was gorgeous, and could have any girl he wanted, so I would have been a fool NOT to date him. I was young, so young, and the idea of marrying such a prime hunk put stars in my eyes.
Juandissimo took me everywhere, proudly showing me off to everyone who stopped and stared—and I mean EVERYONE. Because, when you're Juandissimo Magnifico, people stopped. And stared. And soon it wasn't me Juandissimo was showing off, but himself. Girls would come from all directions when he flexed, thrusting his chest out like a proud rooster, and that would annoy me. But I kept my mouth shut like a good girl, because I knew I was the one Juandissimo loved. And I loved him back, so I smiled when he showed off to other girls, laughed when he flirted shamelessly, and nodded understandingly when he wandered off, a girl who wasn't me clinging to each arm and giggling mindlessly.
And, like now, I made sure to hide myself away, so no one could see the tears flowing endlessly down my cheeks, or hear the near silent sobs as my heart ached. I'm a good girl, and good girls don't cry in front of others.
Especially not in front of the people who hurt them.
So that's the way we went for a while, Juandissimo and I. Our 'dates' deteriorated into nothing but a formality so he could parade himself in front of as many people as possible, striking perfectly practiced poses in order to show off his developing pecs and abs, and spouting cheesy, overly dramatic, B-movie quality lines.
And through it all, I held my tongue. I wasn't entirely sure if I still loved him, but what would I become if I weren't 'Juandissimo's girlfriend' anymore?
My friends were somewhat split in their opinions—some of them (a very small fraction, I might add) thought I was insane for putting up with Juandissimo's behavior, and the others (in other words, practically EVERYONE else) thought I was insane for even entertaining the idea of breaking up with him. My father and sister tended to side with the latter half of my friends, so no real help there.
I was surrounded by people, but had never felt so alone in my life.
Until one day, when I walked into an unsuspecting little diner.
Two friends of mine, Cassie and Andie, had decided to take me out to eat in an effort to get my mind off of the 'Juandissimo Situation', as we had come to call it. They were of the 'how can you possibly think of breaking up with that hunk?' mindset, but thankfully kept their thoughts and opinions to themselves. It was nice to be out and not have to worry about Juandissimo, or relationships, or anything important for a little while.
I knew the green haired waiter was staring as soon as we sat down—you don't date Juandissimo Magnifico and NOT know when people are staring. But this was different. He wasn't staring as US, he was staring at ME. It was an odd feeling, to say the least. I wasn't used to being noticed—at all, let alone by someone I didn't even know—and the weight of his gaze made me both light-headed and nervous. I don't think I had ever blushed so fiercely in my life.
When he came to take our orders, his trembling hands and uneven voice told me that I wasn't the only one who was feeling nervous. And still, his eyes never once strayed. I risked a few glances up at him and had to consciously pull my eyes away from his. They were such a beautiful shade of green, and in them I saw wonder. I saw amazement. I saw hope.
And I saw . . . me. He wasn't simply looking at a customer or a fellow teenager, he was looking at—and actually seeing—ME. It was a realization so overwhelming, I nearly wept.
Up until that moment, I had been known as either 'Big Daddy's little girl', 'Blonda's sister', or 'Juandissimo's girlfriend'. If anyone ever mentioned my name, it was usually quickly followed by one of these descriptive monikers. "That's Wanda. You know, Juandissimo's girlfriend."
But as I sat in that little booth, unconsciously locking eyes with a guy I think I might have seen in the halls at some point in school, I finally and for the first time in my life, felt like Wanda. Period. No comma with some admittedly limiting and insulting description afterward. Just Wanda. It was a strangely exhilarating feeling, especially since it originated from a fairy I had never officially met before in my life. I didn't even know his name.
My friends were less moved by the emotional impact of the moment, and in fact seemed to find the entire scene rather funny. They snickered cruelly, and our waiter blinked, breaking our connection. His face burned deep red, and he cast his eyes downward, lowering his head and muttering something unintelligible before hurrying toward the kitchen.
Once he had disappeared through the swinging doors, I turned to my companions. I uttered not one word, but the look I leveled upon them spoke volumes. They quickly quieted, deciding to fidget with the napkin dispenser while we waited for our meal.
I eagerly awaited the return of our waiter, not because I was hungry—food couldn't have been further from my mind—but because of the way he had made me feel. In those few brief seconds we had locked eyes, my heart raced, my skin tingled, and everything around us seemed to shift slightly out of focus. It was scary and it was wonderful, this feeling. To be thrown so off-kilter, so askew, by what could have been described as a passing glance by the casual observer was nothing less than alien to me.
And all from a look. Just one look.
Finally, after an eternity that lasted three minutes, the doors opened wide and out he flew, our orders balanced carefully on his arms. He glanced repeatedly at each plate in turn, and slightly twisted his arm if one looked at all tilted. Concentration was etched into his features, and he looked up only once he had finally arrived at our table, a slight blush still stretching across his cheeks. My own cheeks were feeling slightly sore, and it was then that I realized I had been smiling through his whole journey across the diner. I forced myself to stop, worried that he'd take me for a loon.
"Here're your orders, ladies," he said before pausing and giving his full arms a dumbfounded stare. The plates stretched from his shoulders to his wrists, and occasionally clattered against each other softly. The blush on his cheeks slowly deepened, and I could almost hear him wondering just how in blazes he would serve us with his arms loaded like that. He bit his lower lip, and glanced worriedly at my friends. I think he was waiting for them to start laughing at him again.
Thankfully, instead of laughing, Cassie and Andie smiled and carefully took their plates from him, much to his—and my—relief. Once freed from the extra burden, our waiter grabbed the last plate left to him—mine. He floated closer to me, and our eyes locked again. That strange feeling from before returned, intensifying the closer he came. His blush faded only slightly, and the corners of his mouth curled into a shy smile.
"This must be yours, then," he said softly, holding the plate in front of him. I nodded slightly, not trusting myself to speak. He floated ever closer, and I thought I could happily lose myself in those beautiful clear green eyes of his. Without thinking, I scooted nearer to the edge of the booth, wanting to be closer to him—closer to the fairy that could make me feel so special with just a look.
He continued to float closer, and our locked eyes obscured everything else. Unfortunately, that included the low-hanging light fixture that hung between the booths, and his forehead met the metal forcefully, breaking our connection and knocking him off-balance. He jerked violently in an effort to right himself, and the plate in his hands upended, sending my burger and milkshake flying. The resulting shower left us both covered in what had been my meal just a few seconds ago, and he practically threw the now empty plate to the floor as he lunged for the napkins, apologizing profusely all the while.
I sat frozen, watching as he pulled handfuls of napkins from the dispenser and began wiping at the mess in my hair. The gentle pressure of his hands contrasted the frenzied apologies that tumbled constantly from his lips almost comically, and I smiled despite the sticky mess that covered me.
I'm not sure who became aware of the sound of laughter first, him or I. His hands suddenly stopped moving, and his head turned slowly.
My friends were laughing again, in near hysterics, with large tears rolling down their cheeks. The angry look I threw at them had no effect—what with their eyes being closed and all—and I turned back just in time to hear our waiter blurt out another rushed apology before turning and flying quickly to the door, pushing past anyone in his way. I blinked and he was gone, the slowly closing front door the only clue to his exit.
At that particular moment in time, I was emotionally torn. Anger was boiling inside me, just itching to get out and let my 'friends' have it for being so incredibly rude and inconsiderate to our waiter, a fairy who had done absolutely nothing to them to warrant such mocking behavior. But at the same time, the sympathetic and empathic side of me wanted to run out and try to comfort him. Regardless of how he may or may not actually feel about me, or how I may or may not feel about him, his feelings had obviously been hurt by the actions of my lunch companions. I couldn't let him think I approved of their behavior.
Not bothering to spare a glance at my still laughing 'friends', I quickly flew out after the green haired fairy. Once outside, I scanned the area frantically, hoping to find a clue to his retreat. I was about to fly straight up in the hopes of catching sight of him when I heard a loud sob, followed by muffled words I couldn't understand. Quickly flying around the diner, I found our waiter, sitting on the ground, his face buried in his hands. He was crying. My heart melted.
"Excuse me?" I called softly. "Are you all right?"
He froze, apparently startled by my voice. Slowly, he turned to me, his eyes wide and full of either fear or shock. Maybe both. When he saw me, he gasped, his body trembling slightly.
"Are you all right?" I asked again as I went to my knees before him. He watched me, those big, beautiful green eyes never blinking. I was much closer to him than I had been in the diner, and locking eyes with him at this distance sent an electric charge dancing across my heart.
"I—I'm sorry," he said quietly, and the amount of emotion in his voice made me want to start crying myself. "I didn't mean to . . . I mean, I was only trying to . . ."
I smiled and waved my hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry about that. It was just an accident. Could have happened to anyone!" I conjured some napkins, and began wiping at the mess on his face. "What's your name?"
He sat silent for a moment, staring at me almost blankly with those mesmerizing eyes of his. Oh, those eyes! I continued to clean the mess on his cheeks, forcing myself to move slowly so the shake in my hand would be less evident.
This green haired fairy was certainly different from anyone I had ever met before, and being in such close proximity to him made my heart race. Not even Juandissimo had ever brought about this reaction in me. It was like some wonderful drug, one that made me smile unconsciously, my heart thump madly within my chest, and my skin tingle. If those were the worst of the side effects, than I would have happily become addicted.
No matter how close I was to this fairy, I wanted to be even closer. If simply being NEAR him brought about a response this strong in my body, I wondered what actually TOUCHING him would do. Skin to skin. Would the tingle in my skin intensify, eventually making me feel as though I had touched a live wire? Would the tingle become an all-encompassing warmth? Or would my heart simply stop, being so unused to such raw emotions?
The last option actually seemed the most plausible to me at the time, and that was what restrained me. But it was hard, oh so hard!
A thought suddenly struck me, and I wondered—could this actually be love? Not the 'love' I had grown up believing in, or the 'love' that I thought I felt for Juandissimo, but REAL love. REAL honest-to-goodness 'I love you' love. Did it actually exist?
Now that . . . that was a scary thought. Not just scary, but scary CRAZY. Could I really be in love with this waiter who had just dumped my meal all over me? A fairy who was obviously so emotionally sensitive to the point of crying in front of strangers? It simply wasn't conceivable. I couldn't possibly be in love with a fairy I'd only just met ten minutes ago, and had only actually spoken to a totally of three or four times. For heaven's sake, I didn't even know—
"My name!" he suddenly cried, seeming to finish my thought out loud. "You wanna know my name!"
I nodded, an amused smile curling my lips.
"It's . . ." For a split second his eyes went blank and I was honestly worried he'd start to panic before he cried, "Phillip! NO! COSMO!"
"Cosmo?" I asked, still smiling. The fact that he had almost forgotten his name was charmingly sweet. "Are you sure?"
He smiled, a light blush crawling across his cheeks. "I—It's Cosmo," he said quietly, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. "Sorry. I get confused sometimes." It was such an honest and innocent comment, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Well, it's nice to meet you Cosmo," I said instead as I resumed my cleaning of his face. "I'm Wanda. And I'd like to apologize for the two girls I was with. It was mean of them to laugh at you like that. I'm sorry if they hurt your feelings."
He sat quietly for a minute or so, watching me. I could feel my cheeks grow warm as a blush surfaced, and I struggled to remain focused on my job. His face was almost clean, the small smile still on his lips.
"You're really pretty," he said softly, causing my cheeks to burn hotter. "Even when you're all sticky and covered in food."
"There are prettier girls," I whispered as I flipped a mayonnaise encrusted curl out of my face. "I'm really nothing special." He offered me a slightly confused look as I finished wiping his face.
"I think you're special," he said quietly, and I sat back on my ankles a little faster than I had anticipated. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. Not even Juandissimo. Cosmo leaned forward, grabbed a few of the napkins I had conjured and began wiping my face.
"Why would you say that?" I whispered, and his eyes sought mine. "You don't even know me." He paused in his cleaning efforts to offer me a kind smile.
"You didn't laugh."
I frowned, my brow furrowed in confusion, and leaned backwards, away from his hands.
"THAT'S why you think I'm special?" I asked, feeling tears in the back of my throat. I felt so foolish. "Just because I didn't laugh at you?"
The smile dropped from Cosmo's face and he drew back, his hands pulled against his chest. His expression suggested that he wasn't sure whether to feel more confused or worried because of my reaction.
"A-and you looked at me . . ." he added hesitantly. He seemed honestly confused as to why I was upset. "Are . . . are you mad?"
Now the tears did come, and I jumped to my feet and spun around quickly to keep him from seeing.
"No," I said in a strained voice as I hurriedly wiped the tears away. "I'm just an idiot. A big, stupid, overly-emotional idiot."
I began walking away—too upset by my foolish, overly-romanticized ideas to bother flying—and when Cosmo spoke again, his voice almost too soft to hear.
"But that's what everyone calls ME."
I stopped in mid-stride, turning slightly to look over my shoulder at him. "What?"
He was still sitting on the ground, but had pulled his legs up to hug them. His eyes were shiny and faraway.
"Just about everyone calls me 'The Idiot'," he said, staring at the ground. "Sometimes with my name, sometimes not. But usually, if someone's talking about me, they say 'That's Cosmo. You know, the idiot.'"
I jerked as if struck—this was hitting a little too close to home.
"I guess I AM an idiot. I made you mad and I don't even know how!"
Cosmo began to cry then, openly and unashamedly. My own anger and hurt was forgotten as I watched him, and I couldn't bring myself to continue leaving. Not when he was still so confused over my actions.
"Cosmo," I soothed as I sat back down in front of him. "Calm down, okay? I'm not mad."
He quickly wiped at the tears on his cheeks before looking up at me. "I didn't mean to make you mad!" he whispered, clutching my hands tightly. I had been right—it DID send a stronger charge through me. "I'm so sorry! Please don't be mad at me!"
"Cosmo, I'm NOT mad!" I said, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. "Tell me what you meant before. About me being special."
He looked confused for a second before understanding lit his face like a spotlight.
"You're special because you didn't laugh at me," he repeated slowly, as if carefully choosing each word before it left his mouth. "I was looking at you, and you didn't call me names or insult me or just plain laugh at me. You looked back. It's like you didn't see some green haired idiot, you saw ME. Cosmo. No one's ever seen ME before."
I was speechless. I had never really been much of a believer in 'soul mates' before, mostly because I could never imagine two people possessing such a seemingly mystical 'connection', especially after knowing each other for only a short time. Such a belief was best left to the romantics and the dreamers of the world, I was sure.
And, in truth, hearing that Cosmo's experiences so greatly mirrored my own might have had me thinking more along the lines of 'coincidence', all other things being equal. It really wasn't all that strange that someone else would have similar feelings and experiences when dealing with others. I mean, didn't everyone feel, at some time or another, that they had been reduced to simply a vague description? Suzie's cousin, Joey's brother, Julie's friend—it's not really all that uncommon. Right?
I had just opened my mouth to tell him . . . something—most likely along the lines of "everyone feels like that sometimes"—when I suddenly became aware of how fast my heart was beating. He was leaned forward, peering hopefully into my eyes, his hands still holding onto mine. Every few seconds his thumbs gently caressed my skin, sending fresh shockwaves of electricity through my arms. My breath came in quick little pants, and I slowly realized that I wanted him to kiss me. Very badly, actually.
"What's my name?" I whispered instead, hardly able to keep my voice steady. He gave me a questioning look as he pulled back slightly.
"What?"
"Who am I? Please tell me, Cosmo. Please."
The questioning expression changed to one of confusion as he continued to stare at me. I admit it was kind of a strange thing to ask, especially of someone who seemed easily confused to begin with. But I had to know. Was I simply 'Big Daddy's little girl', 'Blonda's sister' or 'Juandissimo's girlfriend'? Or was it possible for someone to see me as Wanda, and only Wanda?
Was it possible to BE Wanda, and only Wanda?
"I don't understand," Cosmo said quietly, his cheeks turning flush. "Did you forget your name? 'Cause mine's written on my underwear in case I forget . . ." He turned to show me, and I quickly grabbed his hands.
"No, Cosmo, I didn't forget my name," I said with a slight laugh, and he turned back to me. The confused look was still there, but not as intense. "I just . . . Sometimes I kind of forget who I am." He cocked his head to the side and opened his mouth—presumably to ask what the difference was—when I placed a gentle finger on his lips. "It's a little hard to explain. But let's just say that I feel like you do. Sometimes it doesn't feel like I'm 'Wanda', but just 'Juandissimo's girlfriend'. Like I'm just defined by who I'm with instead of who I am. Do you understand?"
I removed my finger and he sat quietly, a thoughtful expression on his face. He seemed to study me, his brows furrowing slightly as he thought. I hoped he would understand—I willed him to understand. He HAD to.
"I think so," he started after a long moment. "But why would anyone call you that when your name's Wanda? Just because you're some guy's girlfriend, that doesn't mean you stop being Wanda! That's just silly!" He laughed, his eyes sparkling.
I sat dumbfounded. The term 'soul mates' came to mind again, and I was less inclined to dismiss it.
He understood.
And he was right.
I had, however unknowingly and unwittingly, accepted those vague descriptions as my 'place' in life. I was as guilty as anyone for allowing those insulting titles to become so synonymous with my name, and define who I was. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I really had no idea who I truly was, and that frightened me. I had wasted so much time and energy acting out in the accepted roles that others had—whether intentionally or unintentionally—thrust upon me, that I had come dangerously close to losing the REAL ME. A sobering thought to say the least, and part of me wanted to weep for all the lost time.
Was it too late? Had the REAL ME been so buried and suppressed that she was lost forever?
Cosmo sat quietly, gently stroking my hands with his thumbs and a small smile on his lips. His eyes had locked with mine again, and his face had taken on the expression of pure contentment.
"Wanda," he said, his voice soft. "Your name is Wanda, and I don't think I'll ever forget it as long as I live."
Warmth exploded on my cheeks as another blush surfaced, and this time it didn't see fit to remain there. My entire body soon felt flush, and the heat moved inward to encircle my heart. The urge to kiss him arose again, and this time, I didn't resist. I leaned forward, much to his—and, in truth, my own—surprise, and gently pressed my lips against his.
Once the initial shock had given way, he slowly increased the pressure, kissing me back. My heart skipped a beat or two, and I honestly felt as though the rest of the world had fallen away. At that moment, it was just the two of us, and I would have happily stayed that way forever.
Yes, I had allowed the REAL ME to be buried, but she wasn't lost. I felt confident that I could find her and save her. Save myself. And I was sure that Cosmo could help.
I had never felt such a connection to anyone in my life, and I was sure he felt the same way. Being near Cosmo filled me with a strange confidence that I had never experienced before, and for the first time in my life, I felt like WANDA. He was so honest, so innocent, so simple. He had no expectations, no preconceived notions regarding me or my behavior. He just liked ME. He just wanted to be with ME.
With just a few seemingly insignificant things—a few small touches, an innocent comment or two—he had awakened the REAL ME and shown me how hollow and empty my every day life truly was. Meaningless. It was all meaningless.
But now, after such an unlikely catalyst as a spilled meal, I felt my life truly begin. I had found my—yes, I'll say it happily—soul mate, and couldn't imagine my life without him. I firmly believe that we belong together, standing side by side, hand in hand. No matter what life may throw at us, we'll get through it, as long as we're together.
~X~X~X~
Harsh laughter pulls me from my happy memories, and I realize I must have missed yet another insult uttered at my expense. I utter a sad sigh as the last of my memory slips away.
Sometimes I retaliate, saying something mean and hurtful back in the hopes that it would open his eyes to what he's doing, but not today. I don't have the energy.
So I simply float slightly behind him, hoping that he'd become so preoccupied with whatever it is he and Timmy are talking about that he'd simply forget I was there. Sometimes it works, and I'm free to lose myself in memories of happier times, when my husband still loved me. It seems like so long ago.
I'm afraid. The longer we go on like this, the more withdrawn and broken I become. I can feel myself assuming the 'assigned role' again, and I find myself becoming the nag he seems to think I am. I don't want to lose myself again, and deep down I know I should confront him about this, but I just . . . can't. I can't bring myself to ask him, "Why don't you love me anymore?" because I'm truly afraid he'd actually tell me.
Maybe some day, when I've reached the breaking point, I'll finally have the courage to face him. But not now.
Cosmo, can't you see how fragile I truly am? Can't you see how your harsh comments and hurtful words are killing me inside? We've faced so much hardship in our lives, overcome so many odds, how could you turn on me so suddenly? Can't you see how much that hurts? Don't you care?
I love you, Cosmo, so very much. Your actions wouldn't hurt so much if I didn't. You saved me from a lifetime of nothingness by awakening my true self, which is what makes your recent behavior so much more painful. My heart aches so much now, I worry how much more abuse it can take.
I love you, Cosmo, and I always will.
But I hate you now. I hate what you've become. I hate what you've forced me to become.
I hate crying by myself in the middle of the night. You used to 'just know' when I was upset, and come to me, comforting me, usually crying with me. But now you stay asleep, curled up in your bed—oh yes, don't tell me you didn't expect me to be hurt when I poofed into our home one night to see two separate beds in our bedroom—and usually clutching that nickel you love so much tightly in your hands. So I cry alone, wondering just where things went wrong, and why you no longer seem to care anymore.
And when I run out of tears, I sit and watch you sleep, yearning to crawl in beside you and feel your arms around my waist as we snuggle beneath the warm covers.
But I don't dare go. I'm afraid you'll pull away and sleep with your back towards me. I'm afraid you'll laugh at my foolishness. I'm afraid you'll say something that will embed an even larger dagger into my heart, because hearing it while we share a bed is much different than hearing it in the light of day.
But most of all, I'm afraid that you'll actually pull me into your arms and nuzzle your head into my shoulder like you used to do on a nightly basis, way back when we actually shared a bed as husband and wife. For that would make the pain of this entire situation that much worse. And that much more real.
Someday, Cosmo. Someday I'll confront you about this. Someday when I've reached the end of my tears, and truly fear that my heart will break with one more painful comment from your lips. Someday when the pain of living without you is outweighed by the pain of living with you. Someday when the last ounce of my fear is overwhelmed by my pain and sorrow. Then I will confront you. And hope my heart doesn't finally shatter, engulfing me in darkness and pain.
I love you, Cosmo. I have always loved you, from the very first moment I saw you.
Please tell me that this is some horrible dream I'm trapped in, and you're right beside me, shaking me, calling my name, begging me to wake up. Please tell me these tears on my cheeks are actually yours, dropping onto my face as you hover over me, caressing me tenderly. Please tell me that this pain in my chest is simply because your head is resting there, unknowingly putting too much weight on my ribs.
Please tell me you love me. And that you'd never stop, no matter what.
Please?