Or lover past, as in this case.
Once upon a time, many, many years ago, I met a man. It happened after a divorce and a year of living in solitude. We met via an adult website. Our first meeting was a hit, and we met on a regular basis from then on. Both were in agreement on the purpose of our meetings.
A year or so into the “relationship”, woe oh woe, I had to let him know that things had changed for me. “Oh. This is not what I had in mind at all”, was his response. But still, he kept me dangling. Hoping. Hoping. That maybe he would change his mind. His sole intention, as per our aforementioned agreement, was to keep busy during the week-ends.
After years, yes….years, of torment, pain, agony, disappointment, tears, depression, utter heartache trying to forget this man, I thought I might finally have gotten him out of my system – so to speak.
It needed an act of “stalking”, but I thought that I finally, finally had done it. That I could think of him as fun times had, an experience, a lesson learned.
At this point it is just under 2 and a half years since I had last heard from him.
One dark and rainy Sunday evening, whilst sitting in my living room watching tv, I hear my bottle-opener-tone of a text message from my phone.
“Hi, do you remember this number?” “Still alive?”
And that’s IT.
No follow-up answer to any of my questions.
So…why? Why this tap on my shoulder from the past?
Because yes, he still had the same gut-wrenching effect on me as before. My heart raced, my brain went in to overdrive with wondering, “Why? Why now? What for?”
So. Here I am, 2 weeks later. Still nothing. And again I wonder.