Today was our second first date…

Five months ago, I told you my feelings has resurfaced and you didn’t reciprocate.

Over the spring, we planned a family vacation for the kids. Our time in Florida was bittersweet for me. It was painful to be so close to you, to feel like a family again, and to know it wasn’t real and to fear it never would be. On our way back home to Indiana, I couldn’t keep my composure any longer. Somewhere inside, I had hoped that our love would rekindle under the tropical sun beside our children. Every sunrise took a little more of that hope away.

Our last day was the hardest. I’d completely given up hope and my grief was compounded by proximity to your grandmother. Being in her home, I felt like an intruder, an outsider – even though I know now that I was and am not either. Dread that you would one day love someone new, that it would be their picture on the walls of your grandmother’s home, them at Thanksgiving. The thought of being replaced was unbearable.

But Mamaw wanted me there, made me belong. And it was on her porch, moments before a wild thunderstorm rolled in, that I asked for what I thought was an impossibility. Reconciliation. We were interrupted by the storm and spent time fixing your grandmother’s safe. But I was able to get you along again. You said you didn’t want to hurt me again. I told you I was already in pain. You held me for a moment and I fit in your arms like I belonged there.

The ride home from Kentucky, we talked the whole drive. More than we had in years. We talked about our past, our growth, and our fears. We confessed to our past sins and shared what we had learned in therapy and about ourselves.

I held your hand.

When we got back to Indy, I asked if you were my boyfriend and you said yes.

I deleted Tinder and TikTok and Reddit.

I asked you if we could have a picnic date the next day (today!) and you said yes. ♥ 

We ate chicken Caesar salad, charcuterie, and cake. I got you the kombucha you like (Trilogy) and gave you a plan with cool leaves and minimal watering needs (since you aren’t home most days).

While we ate, we played the We’re not Really Strangers game. We laughed together, made goofy and raunchy jokes, we blushed, we got serious. It was an amazing experience. At the end of the game, we’re supposed to write each other letters. I cheated because I bought a card at the store and wrote my letter this morning before I came over. While you wrote yours, I cleared the table and washed our dishes. When I was nearly done, you came up behind me and as you’d done hundreds of times before, you wrapped your arms around me and held me. You kissed the top of my head and we stayed in this heavenly embrace for so many heartbeats I lost count. I closed my eyes and rested my head back on your strong chest. Bliss. When I asked what that was for, you told me you’d read my letter.

It said:

Dear Mark,

It feels surreal to write you this. Thinking about where we started, where we’ve been, and where we are now, I’m filled with a sense of gratitude and hope.
Our time apart was necessary in so many ways. It was a period of growth for both of us. I’ve seen you evolve into a stronger, more self-aware version of yourself, and I’m genuinely in awe of the man you’ve become.
Your resilience, kindness, and unwavering dedication to your family are just a few of the reasons my heart is drawn to you once more.
I am excited and a little scared. There have been butterflies in my stomach all morning. I think it’s the good kind of fear… that kind that comes with stepping into something beautiful and unknown.
I look forward to rekindling our friends, to rediscovering the things that make us click, and to building a love that is stronger and more vulnerable than before.
You’re a remarkable man, and I’m incredibly lucky to have the chance to explore this journey with you again.
I hope we can take this step with open hearts and open minds. Let’s go on an adventure together and continue creating beautiful memories together and with our family.

With all my heart,
Khepri

When the time came for me to leave, I was hoping you’d kiss me goodbye. But you turned away. I thought maybe you didn’t want to kiss me. The day before, you made it clear that one of your boundaries was that we go slow. Mine was that I wasn’t ready to have sex any time soon.

So I start to leave. Loaded everything into the JEEP and almost got in myself. I paced a bit in your driveway, agonizing over how I was going to ask for a kiss – or whether I should ask at all. I walked back to you and use a bizarre analogy – the scene in the second Jurassic Park movie where they’re stuck in a trailer on a cliff and they have to decide between possible death and probably death (inky waters below or carnivore?)

I finally asked for clarification on what you meant by taking things slow (how slow? Then I asked if I could kiss you. Your hand touched the skin on my back and your soft lips pressed into mine. Again and again. We were lost in our own little world. You stepped away after and need to make a few adjustments to your shorts. You told me no tongue – otherwise you’d want to bed me. And I probably would have let you…

I’ve been in a great mood ever since, a huge smile randomly appears every now and again.

---

When I was on Captiva, I wrote about the pain of unrequited love:

I didn’t realize how hard it would be coming back here, driving at night the reflections glint off the road and in my mind. You’re next to me but so far away… Sharing our space but not our lives.

I could reach out and take your hand if it weren’t for the rift that shook the continents of our consciousness, transforming what we once shared into a planet shattered, the pieces of land floating around us, separated by vast oceans of regret and shame.

To come back to the place we called home and bear witness to the aftermath of the destruction of a hurricane on land and in our hearts. To think of what could have, should have, would have been.

From the outside, our family is whole and thriving. Glistening in the sun like a thousand rippling waves whipping fluffy whitecaps in the wind and sparkling with liquid sunshine.

But looking at you and seeing no adoring, no love. No desire. Is this a mirror I’ve crafted with my own hands? Where once you stood, I now stand. Aching for a glimpse of the ghostly emotions and I suffer. Silently.

I slip. Sunscreen on the tile makes my new sandals slide across the room. I bought them with you, browsing the store for just the right pair. Were we the right pair? I slip again when you say “fuck me” but gods know you didn’t mean it that way – and if you did, you’d never ask me.

At least, not again.

Each day is a struggle. I bask in the joy of my children while my insides twist with longing, the rolling waves crash into the sand break, heart breaking. Shattered.

I’m so thankful to have met you. To have a family with you. To be near you. And when I close my eyes, the sorrow of a distant memory weighs heavy on my back, half a dozen bags of toys and dreams and memories pressing each step deeper into soft sand. Sinking me into that familiar dark place of regret and self-hatred.

Will this sea breeze heal my broken heart? Won’t the sunshine lighten my thoughts? They’re so heavy. I’m begging this familiar universe to not feel so familiar. Release me from the ghosts of my heart’s desire and give me something new to love.

Last night, we drove by the place we got married. Did you see it? The green, whispering slough. Trees dripping with Spanish moss and memories. Droplets of rain sparkling in the sunset. My heart is begging for its home, circling the slough beside a flock of white ibis en route to their nightly roost. But my nest is barren. My mate long since chased from the safety of its branches.

Chased by my impatience. By my fear. By my ignorance. I know I deserve so much more than what you were giving me. Starving me for love. Did you ever want me or was I simply a convenience… a way out of a life of monotony…

I ached. The dull throbbing burn bubbling up from my stomach to my throat. I Goran and I scream and I am still incomplete. Was I ever whole when I was with you? Was I adrift flotsam, washed up on your shore? Tolerated until the next storm sweeps me out to sea, dragging me under the rip current. The undertow of love. Gulping in mouthful of sea water and it’s a struggle to repeat proclamations of affection. Halted by the ocean of fear and resignation. Silenced.

I confide in your brother, in my mother’s spirit, in whatever gods may have listened. I love you. I love you. Your kind heart and your laugh. I love the touch of you. The taste of you. Your drive to protect and provide. Your shape and size – inside and out. I fit so well in your arms. But…

I am not your hopes and dreams. I am not your love. And I must overcome myself if I am ever to find joy in the sunset, to admire its brilliant colors and the spark of green on the horizon. To taste the savory, smell the sweetness of living.

But for now, I’ll continue to gulp mouthfuls of sea water, choking and gagging on my stupidity. On my regret. After all, it was my choice to end it. I’ve done this to myself.

---

After you agreed to try again, I wrote this poem:

Somersaults in Spring

The winter of my longing has at last come to an end. The ice and snow and sorrow melt away, revealing the bare skeleton of a once vibrant garden.

I tended haphazardly. Without thought for my flowers and herbs. I under watered, forgetting the most basic of needs for love to thrive here. Steady verdant branches that once held us high became brittle.

With time. With determination. With love, I relearn how and where and when to sow my seeds of joy and curiosity.

Spring has come. The first fluttering of wings dance across my belly with excited trepidation. A single leaf bursts forth from its bud, a bright green glint of hope amongst the drab vines. Soon, flowers will bloom here, welcoming life and love into my garden once more.

---