Warmth of the Sun

Sometimes I get real lonely sleeping with you.

I ran away this morning. I needed to cruise down the open road in my robe and slippers, just me, a cup of coffee, and some tunes on the radio. My wife and I both needed the break from each other (we were both in far better moods when I returned), and it was nice to have the time to think. Seems like I’ve been fighting loneliness my whole life. I thought getting married would be the final nail in the coffin for it, and for a time it was. I remember driving to work, feeling warm, sustained by my wife’s love. She’d often send me a text in the morning, to tell me she loved me. When I got home at night, we’d sit on the couch, and I’d bask in the warmth, just being together, all the problems and cares of the world melted like wax. It didn’t last long, not even a year, though it would come back for brief periods. But those periods would get shorter, and shorter, until they disappeared entirely, and I realized I had never been so lonely and cold in my entire life.

Now, as I drove, I realized that my relationship with Sierra wasn’t making me any less lonely. She was back home with her family for Thanksgiving, and probably not giving me more than a seconds thought every once in a while. I know I probably think about her too much. But, somehow, since I started screwing her, the loneliness didn’t matter anymore. I felt warm as I drove on this morning, content. Seemed that even when my wife and I had those  warm fuzzy feelings, perhaps they were just all in the moment. Did my wife really ever care that much for me? I still care for her, but it isn’t the same. But was it just convenient at that time to have that love and those feelings, and now it wasn’t any longer.

Seems nothing lasts, and always seeking to have others love you so you can be happy seems to be a losing proposition. You may have victory for a day, but you’ll never win the war. Or maybe you can, with the right partner, but is loneliness really the problem? Perhaps my war all these years hadn’t been against loneliness, but against myself. A rebellion against my own person, not willing to accept myself, not willing to try only to fail, but only willing to sit on the sidelines and sulk at life’s unfairness. Who really knows the secret to happiness and contentment? The meaning of it all. Sex is the ultimate ‘in the moment’ experience. A hunger of our body and mind. After it is done, we try to hold onto it, to savor the memory like a fine meal, but it is so much sweeter in the moment, before it passes away. How could something so effervescent continue to make an impact on me at this moment? Perhaps the echos of the actions that took me there? Is it the fact that I didn’t suppress my desire, but seized the moment? Even now, I hungered for it once more, but I am satisfied. Maybe life is like music, the empty spaces between the notes are as important as the notes themselves. And you can’t just play a single beautiful chord and stop, you have to keep playing or the flame will die. Whatever it is, I feel warm.