You were the suave, experienced one, I was the virginal, wide-eyed student. I guess that chasm of separation between the similarities of our histories had its appeal to both of us. You were the one who had seen it all, the one to impress and live up to, I was the untainted pup willing to be corrupted in the worst possible ways. We grew close despite our significant difference in biological ages, instead finding numerous parallels and intersections in our otherwise distant paths. It's like finding out someone has been functioning in your role in a completely different environment.
Intellectually, of course I knew you have had an illustrious past. Someone that devilishly attractive does not stay unnoticed for three decades. But on a more basely level, on a primal degree, everything about your past gives me an uncontrollable lurch in the pit of my stomach. Picturing one's lover's exes was not one of those places where an over-active imagination was appreciated. You tried bringing it up once and again, and each time I shut it out, in steadfast denial that I was your only truth. Perhaps it was the surfacing of everything I thought I should have felt by now, but was unable to, due to horrific past experiences. Perhaps it wouldn't have been that bad if my consuming possessiveness had been spread out over, say, five failed relationships. But this was the only love I had ever known, and like hell was I going to share. I wanted to possess your present, your future, even your past.
You don't want to give up your personal life this time, you say. You've been hurt in the past, throwing away your responsibilities for the sake of enjoying one more minute, one more night, with a boyfriend who was scheduled to depart for good. Much like my situation. This time, you say, you wont let yourself forget who you are for the sake of spending more time with me. Your friends are still going to be your friends, your job is going to be your job, your duties are still going to be waiting for you when this reaches its steady conclusion. My leaving isn't going to change anything, on a surface level, at least. You're going to look back and know that you managed to keep a semblance of your real life going. I'm going to look back and know that you wouldn't do for me what you would have done for a previous relationship. A completely unfair sentiment, but whatever it is, I don't want to leave with the impression I was somehow not important enough for that level of sacrifice. Perhaps it's because I haven't been through what you have, or I'm just a person who's willing to neglect his responsibilities for love, but I know that had the roles been reversed, I would have more than gladly done it.
Maybe I'm not living up to your ideal image of what a lover should be. Someone self-sufficient enough to survive when you're not around, someone independently able to avoid functioning like a semi-awake robot when you're away. But that's not who I am. I have to be so guarded, so strong, so independent in my everyday life that I just want to be able to be weak with the one person I love. I don't want to carry on putting up strong front with you. I don't want to give you the same 'I'm fine' line I throw to everyone else. I don't want to function with you the way I'm forced to by my usually isolated environment. You have really utilitarian and Spartan views towards relationships, I said. Everything's based on an ideal image of how an efficient and self-sufficient machine should run, as if we're discussing battery performance and not intangible emotions.
I want to fall without a harness, to fall deeply, completely, without hesitation, without a care for what might or might not hurt me. There is no might about it, I will get deeply hurt. But I won't remember holding back and I won't remember placing you anywhere other than my top priority. Like a wound from a hang-gliding or dirt-biking accident; when the scar heals, your most vivid memory would be a flash of that indescribable high of complete abandonment.
