I'm worried about you. You sounded shaky on the phone. Nerve's frayed. Tension in your voice. You kept saying how much you would love to be on my porch with me. We could eat supper and drive out to the lake to watch the last of the afternoon thunderstorms on the horizon. I told you that and you sighed longingly. "I don't know if I can put up with this shit for another week," you said. I gave you a pep talk. "Think of your daughter. Think of all the years you didn't know her. Think of what can be now." It is so easy to say, but so hard to do. I know I wouldn't want my routines turned upside down. Leaving my comfortable home and the privacy it imparts for two weeks of a feeling of imposing and insecurity. That is what you said. You felt like you were intruding on their lives. "They asked you to come, remember?" I replied.
I came so close to blurting out, "I love you," before we said goodbye. I wanted to give you something to look forward to in eleven days. I have dreamed everyday of you finally knowing. No more games. No more enticing moments of flirtation. You will want to make love like you have for months. I have gone over and over it in my mind. Can I perform? Will my medications hinder me? There are so many ways I can pleasure you without doing the main deed, sex. We will jump that hurdle when the need arises.
We had a hard time getting off the phone. "Are you coming to get me if I call and need you?" "I can be there in an hour," I replied. There was a quiet moment as I felt you wanted to ask that very question. "Come and get me," was on the tip of your tongue. We both said goodbye with a sigh and I already miss you terribly. It's hard being in love and wonderful at the same time.