You must be wondering about who in the world gives a letter a title. Well, evidently, its in French and it translates as: The Waning Moon. Yes, I’ve been learning a little bit of French here and there. You know me and my unquenchable thirst for learning new things. But I digress from the real purpose of writing this letter. And I know how you hate reading essays, but kindly indulge me and read on.
I saw you again the other day after what seemed like a lifetime. You were seated right across the room in this fancy restaurant. You had company…friends? Business colleagues? None looked familiar to me.
One minute there I was, waiting on my dinner, the next, I turned, and there you were. I willed myself to look away but couldn’t. An invisible force was holding my head in position with my eyes fixed upon your form. Your chocolate niceness right before me. I stared on despite my best efforts not to.
I stared at the way you gestured with your hands as you explained whatever to your companions. How your hand occasionally flew to your chin and rubbed it as you narrowed your eyes seemingly in deep thought, as if pondering what that rather loud guy across you was going on about.
You turned then, probably from feeling my eyes searing right through you. Our eyes met and locked. I was startled, nearly offsetting the wineglass and its contents thatvstood before me on timetable. I could feel the sweat building on my back…hot beads of sweat trickled down from my forehead. Suddenly it felt too hot. Was the air-conditioning on? I doubted it. Had a heat wave hit town? Probably. Was I having an asthma attack? Wait a minute, I’m not asthmatic! But it sure felt like I was. My breath was coming in shorter by the minute. I struggled to regain my composure; my usual calm and collected demeanor, but alas….the battle wasva lost cause from the very beginning. You had this power over me. I know it must be driving you nuts reading all this, but its no secret to you that I’ve always had a penchant for drama. You always insisted that I was overly dramatic. Not this time though. In that moment, the rest of the room and its occupants seemed to fade away. Only you and I were left. Just as it had always been.
Then the memories hit me, hard, like a sucker punch to the face.
We were at your house and you fixed us drinks, asked about each of the myriad of liquor brands in your bar, and you…a polished connoisseur I noticed, went on to tell all about each brand with passion. The first sip…an introduction to Whiskey…I’ll never forget.
Then we were on the couch, you massaged my feet. Your hands…riding higher and even higher, up towards my thighs and under my dress. I was giggling at the silly tales you were telling me. I asked what your hands were doing underneath my dress,and you retorted; “What dress?”. You insisted that I had nothing on. I admit, the dress was riding more than just a couple of inches above the knee, but blame it on my posture…I did not…no, l COULDN’T resist! Your touch felt good.
Your hand, beneath my panties…stroking and exploring….I gasped for breath.
You leaning in, devoting all your attention to the task at hand. A little moan escaped from my lips. I was lost in the moment. Things had escalated pretty fast after that.
You were the Lion nibbling on my bits and each time you roared, I gasped and cried outta the intensity of the moment.
You were on top…I beneath. You suddenly paused,I opened my eyes. You looked straight in the eye. Your big beautiful eyes staring right into my soul. I arched up and kissed you, our naked and sweaty bodies connecting in the process. I held on tightly to you. You mentioned then how it puzzled you that it seemed as though three different personalities existed within me. As if I was three-in-one.I giggled and rubbed my nose on yours, it was our thing. Three-in-one; the nickname you gave me.
I was in the kitchen, cooking us a meal, and you behind me…kissing and teasing my neck, your hands around my waist…it felt ticklish. I giggled, you chuckled, I giggled the more.
Your gig was done. We were standing outside the hotel. You were seeing me off, teasing me if I had on anything underneath my usual above-the-knee dresses. I giggled. No, I let out a hearty laugh, I knew what was to come next. My heart was racing with anticipation.
We were at the neighborhood bar, you were seated across the table from me, our drinks before us. You, munching away at the pork, oblivious, that I was watching you…the man whose babies I could see myself birthing. You looked up from the meat in your hands then, raised one bushy eyebrow in question, a quizzical look on your face, I smiled and busied myself with my drink.
I in your bed,crying…a flood of tears…my dress left to soak what the earth should. You lay on your back, your hand grasping your head, the other gesturing angrily, your rage being amplified. I, ultimately in futility, defend myself. I wanted you to know that I would never do anything intentionally to hurt you. My heart ached…you dismissive of my attempt to explain myself. I wept, almost inconsolably…that is until, suddenly you got up, took me in your arms and rocked me like a baby.I loved you then like I had never loved anyone before.
The sudden arrival of my companion violently knocked me out of my reverie. I instantaneously looked away from you. My heart was racing. My companion walked over to my side of table, leaned in, pecked me and hastily took his seat as he apologised for being late_something about the crazy traffic.
I stole a glance back at your table, you seemed to be engrossed in what one of your colleagues was saying. And just like that, our moment was gone…Dead!…just like our love.
I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I dropped my eyes. I missed you so much. I wanted to be comforted by your strong arms once more. Had I not told you as much? I had a huge void within me that longed to be filled by you. Did you not know? How could you not know?
When I looked up, my companion had a worried expression on his face. He asked what the matter was.I broke down. I wanted to tell him that I was in love. That someone had my heart. That this person was right here in this room. But this person wasn’t him. I opened my mouth to speak but…nothing! I tried again…nothing but a stutter.
He, immediately to my side, wiping away the tears; tears which were flowing without restraint. He, with a hug, soothingly apologised once more for being late. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t him his fault, but words are fleeting, and silence even more. I felt sick. Sick of my overly emotional self. My emotions made me weak, made me vulnerable. But you already know that.
My companion was a good man. He was Clark Kent and you were Lex Luthor. Where he lit, you had cast shadows; rubbing your darkness on my lantern and almost succeeding in blurring out my light. I had thought that it would be enough for the both of us, but I’d been wrong. You had drained me of tears and almost of my capacity to love. You had almost sucked the life out of me. My heart had never ached so much.
You were the Lex Luthor who couldn’t help being bad. The one who secretly longed to be loved but was too frightened and cowardly to open up his heart to love and be loved by someone else. I had never felt so alone when I was with you. You mocked, abused and ridiculed my love for you. You almost robbed me of my cheerful self.
I remembered why I had left.
I remembered your darkside alright.
I composedmyself, turned and faced my husband. I told him that I was crying because I’d done some self-reflection and realised that I wasn’t good enough for him. I told him that he was a much better partner than I was. I told him that he was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I wanted him to know that I was going to work on myself and find new ways to love him everyday because he deserved so much for being such a great person. Those were the most sincere words I’d told him in months. We both smiled as we locked hands across the table.
So I write this to you because he I want closure. Closure for what once was, but is not anymore and will never be again. This is me liberating myself from your darkness.
Yours in earnest:
The one who thought you meant the world to her: Three-in-one