I sit at my desk working, per usual. It is late; those more fortunate than I have gone to their homes, their families. Yet, I continue to sit and toil alone.
I have a home and a family, if that is how one would wish to define it. When I hear the words home and family my mental picture, obviously too unrealistically defined by the mass media, is one of warmth, comfort, love, safety.
My home feels cold, uncomfortable, loveless, and frightening. It feels like a dark dream. Each time I enter my home, I feel that I have entered the cold and dark abyss. Reality has not changed though my perception of it certainly has. When did our house begin to feel so cold and so dark?
There used to be a light of love and happiness. I remember the warm, safe feeling of being wrapped in my lovers embrace. Where has that embrace gone?
There is a metaphor: two ships passing in the night. It feels as though our ships pass in the night of the cold north Atlantic: the icy cold water that claimed the Titanic. Actually, the Titanic is probably a realistic metaphor for the relationship that has become as two ships passing in the icy waters.
Why cant I tell her how I feel? Would it change circumstances, if I could tell? What would be the result if I told her that I miss her? Sleeping in the same bed at night is no substitute for loving in that bed through the night. Sharing a house is no substitute for loving in a home. Where was I went our relationship took the vow of celibacy? For what sin are we doing penance?
Even if I were able to face her and form the words, I could not deal with the aftermath. I would have to wonder, is she making love to me simply in response to my request?
I do not wish to have to ask, to hint, to imply. I want her to want me of her own accord. I want to look up and see her standing at my office door wearing a black, leather trench coat and nothing but.
I want to hear her tell me that she misses me, she feels an ache begin her legs that only I can satisfy. I need to hear that she still wants and needs me.
There is another old metaphor: it takes two. If I want her to appear at my office door then why, one might ask, do I not go home and appear at my front door wearing nothing but. The answer is that I am afraid. I fear her rejection and I fear her ambivalence. I fear that the reality will pale in comparison to the fantasy.
It is her ambivalence that I fear most.
When, in moments of humiliating and painful weakness, I allude to my longing, she shows no reaction. Is she not interpreting my meaning or does she just no longer care?
Many times I have thought of seeking comfort in the arms of another. I do not wish to take that route, however. I do love her; I do not wish to hurt her.
Am I destined to spend the rest of my life living in a cold and untouching marriage? I spoke to her earlier in the evening. She talked about the laundry and the grocery shopping. I listened. In my head, however, I was screaming. ***** the goddamned laundry. Do you care how I feel? Do you care that I sit here aching for you, aching to be touched? Why? Why do you care more about the laundry than how I feel? Why arent you telling me that you want to make love to me? You used to do that. You used to call me to tell me that you wanted me. I know you still say I love you before hanging up the phone. An I love you uttered out of instinct does not touch my core as would I want to ***** you. I want to be inside of you. I want you inside of me. Why cant you utter those words?
I did not scream my thoughts to her. Instead, I listened patiently as I felt yet another small part of me begin to wither. I look to our future as a lifetime of sterile and cold celibacy.
Recently she told me, as we discussing another couple with whom we are acquainted, that we are so lucky to have each other. We are soul mates; we understand each other. Emotional connection is superior a physical connection. Why cant we have both? Are we really soul mates? If we are, then why doesnt she know that my soul is dying in loneliness and despair. Is her soul dying also? Has it already died?
What I am trying to say, though I know these are words she will never hear, is that I am lonely. How can I be lonely? I am, despite the laws and the politicians, married to her in every sense of the word.
I will sit here in my office and continue to work. I see the clock approaching 11pm. She is probably in bed asleep with no regret that I am not there beside her. I will, however, deposit into our account an impressive paycheck. She will be able to continue purchasing the things that she desires.
I wonder if someday she will again desire me.