Watching, Learning, Listening
It's funny how I have been through some of the hardest emotional experiences of my life with Elemental over the last year, yet I feel closer to him than I have to anyone, ever.
I feel like the last of my walls have come crumbling down. Apparently for me, this takes about six and a half years. At the heart of my commitment issues are trust and faith issues, and those issues have nothing to do with anyone, but me. I feel as though I am beginning to truly trust my choice of Elemental as being my life partner - that "the worst" has happened to us, and that I still love him just as much, if not more than ever. What a curious experience.
I am still dealing with residual paranoia from the whole secret communication debaucle. He really did fuck with my trust, and it's interesting to watch myself as I get pulled into insecurity about it. On an intellectual level I completely realize that I have no say over whether Elemental behaves in a trustworthy way or not, and that worrying about it won't change anything. But on an emotional level? I can crank myself up into a tizzy dang fast, especially with my moon upon me; those three days of hormonal dumping always leave me panting with emotional overload, and having such deliciously upsetting fodder is exactly what my demons adore feeding on.
And so I experience, accept, and gently deconstruct those feelings - thank fuck for my psychologist who I have been seeing for 19 years thus far. He has known me for so long, and is responsible for giving me a lot of the emotional and mental tools that I have for getting through times like these with a modicum of grace. I have learned to ask myself a lot of questions when I start spiralling - it doesn't always work, but it does help, and it does take the edge off. "Doesn't Elemental have the right to make mistakes?" "What exactly don't you trust about him?" "What is it about a lie that makes you so upset?" "What do you need to feel taken care of right now?" That internal dialogue and communication allows me to pluck a great deal of the barbs from my mind and heart and return to a rational place again, ready to move forward.
Valentine's Day, home from work with a mission to get the dogs walked; I change into a warmer jacket, scarf and gloves, headphones with kickin' tunes on, treats, leashes and puppies. Out into the chill of the late afternoon, gumboots clapping against my calf muscles as I head down the street to our neighbourhood walking trail. Dogs falling in line, excited to be outside and moving forward with me. Offleash, they bound off to the water's edge to do their business and sniff-snuff the living daylights out of every nook and cranny that a creature may have occupied. It's so nice to have the days of puppyhood gone, them capable of listening to me and checking in for a treat, keeping their eye on me as we move down the trail. Home, Elemental is in the shower. I hang up their leashes, taking their collars off and chasing them upstairs in a flurry of feet and fur and strip down to naked skin in my dressing room.
Elemental out of the shower, I slip in, the warmth of the water taking away the bitter sting of the last of winter on my skin. Soapy and clean, razor gliding my legs smooth, I am towelling off and heading to my dress closet. I am a ridiculous girl who buys too many dresses, it's true. French Connection with its thick silk liner, a buttery fawn colour with puffed sleeves and gorgeous lines that cup and trace my body without being obvious. Diamonds at my ears and wrists, five inch heels that bring me in line with Elemental's height, I totter back to the bathroom to accentuate and hilight with makeup. It's that dance between bringing out my features, and keeping it natural; Elemental prefers me with none, but for a formal dinner I am not willing to oblige. Lambswool shawl that my sister bought me in Italy years ago, Dior clutch, spritz of Chanel and a slick of gloss on my lips and I am toe-tapping ready to go.
Kerfuffle with the keys, we end up taking his burly man truck, filled with the pong of sawdust and leather, papers and work materials strewn about the cabin. Reservations made almost a month ago, we make good time to a neighbouring city to arrive at our favourite "local" restaurant. Ethically and locally sourced ingredients always done to perfection, we are greeted by name and brought to our table, our usual server complimenting our appearances and settling us into our seats. Rose prosecco and a warm bread basket with garlicky spread, fingers entwined over the black tablecloth, a soft piece of lightbox art adding a glow to our table. I love that dates like this can still make me feel a little nervous.
Elemental is ruggedly handsome. His body is strong, muscles bulked by years of heavy lifting and moving, solid and masculine under a crisp white shirt and gold tie. He is accustomed to Carharts and flannels, and I love when he unbuttons the top button on his shirt and hides it with his tie. I love a man with an ass, his legs like tree trunks; he is so manly and sitting across from him, candle flickering on the table, I feel like his lady. He toys with my fingers and bracelets, smiling at me, connecting and chatting. We talk animatedly and do a little processing about some of our communication habits, but once the food starts coming we are lost causes.
Salmon Wellington in a fresh pea cream sauce, pastry and meat melting in my mouth. Elemental eats his rabbit ravioli with his eyes closed, shaved and roasted garlic and tiny pea shoots upping the ante. He sips a 14 year scotch inbetween courses that makes his eyes roll back in his head and I feel a sharp rush of love watching him enjoy himself. He tucks into an insanely gorgeous piece of meat on the bone, locally sourced beef with a side of creamy potatoes, tiny roasted tomatoes on the vine, crisp green beans and an au jus that pulls it all together. My lobster bisque is like velvet on my tongue, rich and savoury with a tower of layered scalloped potatoes, crushed and herbed spinach, a crisscross of crunchy green beans and a gorgeous giant prawn. I squee a bit when I realize that the blackberry garnish isn't a blackberry at all, but a dollop of sturgeon caviar. Bliss. We eat in relative silence, pulling our usually tradesies so that we can both try everything. By the time dessert arrives, we have both slipped into the coma of sensuous food and romantic surroundings; post sex glazed eyes and that intense feeling of being deeply spoiled and contented. Baked banana inside of a brandied pastry with cinnamon and cream, a chocolate mousse inside of a handmade dark chocolate cup topped with perfectly succulent raspberries and an insane lemon cream topped with a sharp and sweet raspberry sorbet. I sneak sips of Elemental's fragrant coffee and we moan a little as we clear the plate of goodies bite by bite.
It's my treat; this was my Valentine's treat for my sweetheart, and I pay the bill as Elemental registers just how much food he has eaten, sitting content and quiet at the table. We thank the chef and kitchen staff, our servers and the staff and I perch on the little couch by the door as Elemental pulls his truck around the front. A fine mist of rain is falling as I clamber up into my seat. We hold hands the whole way home, and we're both smiling as we chatter with each other.
Slipping into comfy PJs we rewatch the first couple of episodes of GOT and drink a bottle of 2009 sparkling wine from a local vineyard that we both love, more chocolate, snuggled into each other. I present Elemental with a little cake shaped like a heart, and a card filled with words that embody some of the things that I love about him. His card almost makes me cry, so romantic and thoughtful. This. This is why I fought so fucking hard. This is why I am willing to walk through fire. This.
I am curled into him, his solid frame holding me close, touching my hands, my hair, kissing my forehead and face. We are quiet and connected, nowhere to be, nothing to do. Just in that place, that space, that moment, that piece of time and love for us alone. Reconnecting and being still in that rich comfort that only years of history can bring. He is my Valentine, and I am his, and the rest of the world has fallen away hours ago. Our puppies are curled up next to us, tails touching as they dream of squirrels and kibble.
I file this all away in my database of logic. This moment that has played out hundreds of times during our union. We are together. We are a match. We are married. We are in love. None of these things are remotely debatable, and only worry and stress makes it seem as though they are. Fuck all of that. This will pass, this time of struggle and strife, and we will find new ways of being open that are less damaging and intense; will find the way that works for both of us. Find the middle ground.
That dance in relationship of two strong, solo beings coming together. There must be a clash, there must be drama and dischord at times. Otherwise it is just two fools standing on a stage next to each other with no beauty in the ebb and flow of dancing together in perfect unision. And so we dance our own way, to the beat of our collective heart, misstepping and catching each other as we fall to our knees in both joy and despair. Life is overwhelming, and love is a microcosm of that massive web of variables; it filters through us, and we concentrate it into each other. I learn new steps and pay more attention to how he moves, for if I am to dance with him eternally, I have to be committed to falling into his rhythm. And I am.
Wherever you go.... there you are.
Last edited by BaggagePatrol; 02-15-2013 at 04:28 PM.