Merry Christmas, all. Merry Christmas, Sangeeta, my love.
Our story begins with a kiss. Well, it doesn't necessarily -- much comes before the kiss, and much will yet be made of what came before, but the story, the truth, the breath of life in this history of Joe and Sangeeta, Puppy and Kitten, Thunder and Lightning, begins with this kiss.
"I feel," I said, "as though we have been each leaning above a silver pool... gazing down into one another's soul, all this time wondering and waiting..." --pause, gulp, hope-- "...we've been waiting, uncertain for an eternity, yearning to fall into each other, at last... and now...."
Sangeeta stirred, ever so slightly, beneath my fingertips. That evening, I had come over to give her a massage -- and to chat face to face, just the two of us, for the first time. I was massaging her head and face by then, and my hands were alive with every muscle and bone. Even so, I struggled to read her emotions, almost like a blind man trying to make out semaphore...
I brought my words to a halt, stuttering. Fearing momentarily that maybe I had indeed mistaken the soul in her words, in her actions, in her eyes. Could it be she was not aching at the cusp of some great hope, as I was? Was anticipation not shivering through her lips at the thought of finally finding the one to share her entirety with, as it trembled through my frame?
Sangeeta seemed to be so much that I wanted in life, out of a friend, out of a woman and a lover and a mate. She was strong, and demanding, intelligent and charming, adept with words and with people, and, it seemed, sensitive to fools and intolerant of idiots, as we all should be. She seemed to hide away some great ache, something that promised more than a reminder of sorrow -- in silence, she'd whispered to me of dreams tucked away, of a burning passion that turned her explosive repartee into a flying ember of a roaring, eternal bonfire.
Only one way to find out.
Only one way to tell her exactly how I felt in that moment. Words no longer spoke enough.
Gently, deliberately, I bent over her face, hidden in shadow and wonder. Slipping my hands beneath her, I lifted her mouth to meet mine. I don't remember if she followed or led or what. I do remember her intake of hope, of breath, when it became clear what I was doing.
Our lips met as our bodies stretched, necks craning to meet at the utmost of our reach... as though we were leaning across a chasm between us, afraid and uncertain of the distance left to go. Lips that clung to each other in careful desperation, a quiet prayer to whatever gods might listen to two long lost lovers, now finding one another on a quiet shore near the edge of the world...
Can you describe the flavor of promises come true? Can you tell me how sweet, how pure, how tender newfound hope tastes, when mixed with the rebirth of confidence and a dash of the deepest hunger?
I can.
When, reluctantly, our lips parted, we found our hearts irrevocably intertwined -- as they had already been, before our kiss had met. We shared in that night feelings and desires that neither of us had yet released to the light of day or the stars of night. Finally, she began to truly realize how much I hungered for her... and to acknowledge that my thunder echoed within her, just as loudly and as powerfully as within me.
Nothing is certain in this world, though. And that night, I wasn't sure the *world* existed, let alone a future for us... but I could not imagine a world in which I could give her up.
At the end of that night, Sangeeta told me she could not go on. She would not start something that she could not finish, and she just couldn't see us going all the way with this. Not with so much of her life culminating in a frenzy of change and departure in the next few months.
Have you ever been promised the keys to Heaven, then been told that you could, in fact, not have them after all?
The sad truth is, I completely understand why Sangeeta tried to end it that night. To shut me out before my presence could crack open her deepest wishes, set free her most imprisoned dreams... and turn her life upside down. I'm glad she was strong enough to try. I am eternally joyful that I was -- and am -- too good to pass up, in the end.
Because I need her.
Every day that passes, it becomes truer and truer.
Even when life is damn hard, and I'm scared of her parents, scared that somehow all the people she cares for will decide I'm not worthy of her, because of the cut of my clothes, the color of my hair, the name on my degree, the value of my salary, my conversational philosophies, my music, my foolishness, even the simplicity and romance of my diaries... on and on, and in the end, I wonder. Am I actually worthy? Because, though she does not see it, she is a princess among plebians. And I, most often, am a fool in fool's clothing.
Might I bring a smile to your fair, sometimes sad face, my lady?
Might I enliven your days with my love?
Bring light to the ends of your darkest tunnels?
And show to you the beauty of your body, brain, heart and soul?
I love you, Sangeeta Bardhan. Every day I grow stronger. Every day I spend with you -- or just thinking of you -- I get older, closer to the Man you deserve to have. I work harder and harder... I find real ways to make my dreams come true, instead of coasting with the flow of life, as I have, in certain ways, for the past two years. My dreams and our dreams, too.
If you will just speak poetry to me again. Tell me what you see in the stars... and what you see in me. Dream vivid colors, and I will find the shapes -- and we will play the game again, trading places and dreaming ever bigger, or ever more true, or ever deeper to the bottom of our souls.
You will have a proper Halloween next year. We will get great costumes -- or make them ourselves! -- and go to parties, and trick-or-treat like crazy even if it means we have to kidnap some friends' kids in order to do it "legitimately". :)
I love working near you. My productivity goes to hell, but my heart and body dances whenever I come close to your eyes, your kiss, whenever your thoughts interrupt my own -- ever and always, it takes such a strength of will to not simply allow your words, your will to encompass my mind completely. But I know you would not have it that way -- you need a competitive conversationalist, and I need to meet that challenge. I'm working on it, my love, every day.
Some days I may get better, some days, unfortunately, I may get worse. I hope -- I know that you'll forgive me. Because this is love. This is the real deal of real deals.
How will we choose a home together, the first time? I have a thing for a good water heater and really good water pressure. I will do the dishes if you do the dusting and the vacuuming. Sometimes I want Tivo and the whole shebang, and sometimes I think I barely want a TV at all, that there is so much more in life that we should be pursuing... sometimes it's only great stories like the West Wing that keeps me from putting a brick through my TV. That, and it's actually Scott's TV, not mine. ;-)
Those nights when you were afraid, my love, I had only one fear, only one desire: I wanted to soothe you. I wanted you to know that you were and forever will be safe in my arms, safe in my heart, and that no one will harm you while you're with me, not as they once did. Not ever.
I cut my hair a few weeks ago. It was long since time, it's true, but I really did it to show Sangeeta my love for her. Also true, I'm miffed that the hairdresser cut it a good inch shorter than I'd indicated, and styled it in a rather feminine fashion. Although the actual *layering* is pretty cool.
Fact is, it just might be time to cut it down all the way. I've not had it short in many years. Honestly, I don't know if I want it that way -- I'd been looking forward to being the punk metal guy, and it's hard to even *see* myself as metal with hair that fails to reach my shoulders, let alone get others to see me that way. First impressions are so much, on stage.
I know Sangeeta doesn't want me to change for her. She loves me as I am... but I also know she is deeply attracted to old pictures of me -- here and here. Given her response to these, heh, it's damn hard to refuse!
Add to this the fact that her family would respect me more, as sad as it is, if my hair were shorter and less purple -- as though the color of my hair defined the worth of my soul. But such is the way of the world, that we are often judged on the insignificant -- the way we look -- rather than the significant -- the way we treat one another. Okay, okay, I know it's not that simple, but damn... some days....
Anyway, the point is, I am desperately crazy about making myself the absolute best, most attractive, most comforting, lovable and loving boyfriend et al that Sangeeta could ever dream of. I know she feels just as strongly (heh, if not more so) about making herself the perfect One for me. Sometimes I wonder if she realizes that it goes both ways. ;-)
Ah, she'll figure it out. We'll figure everything out. I know we will.
Why do I know that? Aren't there all those rational whispers haunting my giddiness, doubts about families, ages, money and dreams that might not quite match or mesh? Hehehe...
I'm not afraid of you anymore, Doubt. I fear you not, Questions. Want to know why? Because we answer you. Because we WORK together, we discuss and converse and contemplate together, hand in hand, heart in heart, until we find solutions, settle on compromises... we discover mistakes and correct them at lightning and thunder speed.
On one of the first nights of our relationship, I said how happy I was that we found ourselves on the same page. We do not think on quite the same wavelength, but yes: we stay on the same page. Our lives tell two stories of the same book... as time passes, the tale grows richer and deeper. I look forward to reading the rest, in time.
This coming January, we're going to sign up for and take kendo classes together. My princess will use a sword -- and will happily beat me up with it, no doubt.
She can fight dragons on her own, and beat them.
She needs me to conquer dragons for her as well. To stand between her and the fire, protecting my love from harm throughout the night and into the dawn of forever.
Damn straight, I wax poetic. She loves me, fool that I am. Great gallumphing fool, ridiculous dreamer, two-fisted righteous protector of the meek and innocent, lover of the strong and the weak, sword-slinging actor and fencer, choreographer and controller, list-making organizer, manager of singers, son and brother and nephew and, though it may be bragging, a damn fine friend when the shit hits the fan... and most of all, a writer.
And yet, there is one more beyond even that... I am Sangeeta's puppy. Her thunder. The rock amidst this maelstrom of life. The love of her life, just as she is mine.
Here comes tomorrow. Now, I'm ready.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a GOOD life.
