The entire reason why I came back to Smallville was for a girl named MPTR and me leaving is saying good bye to her forever. It is fitting that I was able to say good bye to her in person today. The problem is that nothing ever goes smoothly. She was extremely paranoid about meeting me, terrified that her boyfriend would find out. She has been mentally terrified and psychologically bullied by him ever since he found out about us. There is more than enough blame to go around on that one.
I should not have stepped into it. I should have made it a requirement before I got involved with her that she be single, but love is a strange emotion that overrides all common sense. He should have, upon finding us together have left her rather than what he did. He is not happy and she is not happy and I am not happy. She is most at fault, pursuing a second relationship without ending the first. He did not choose to know that she was Polyamorous and know that that is what poly people do; they love more than one person. I was at fault because I jumped into it without looking and I sabotaged my future to be with her. A few short weeks after I sabotaged my life, I felt her betray me, not that she betrayed me, because I did not really understand her poly nature too.
She loves. She loves more than one man. She loves more than one woman. She loves them all at the same time, for her I think because she is afraid to say goodbye. Her love and mine that we shared was not extinguished and it was not betrayed, it was just put on hold. It is still there, waiting for someone to blow on the embers and bring it to life.
Today she came to my house and she stepped into my arms and we embraced and we held each other like we could not for so long. We did not rut. We could have, when I am in her presence I am always ready, but she was super paranoid and I knew it would be too much for her.
When I first met her I had a different view of women and what I was interested in. I thought breasts were the neatest things about women, how they had shape without bones or muscle. I thought that breasts were the most attractive feature of a woman, I did not understand bums or legs, long or short hair, it was boobs and tits for me. She had virtually none and still I was besotted. Breasts were something that the porn industry emphasized and I consumed their ideas, but a rarely noticed them on friends, instead I looked them right in the eye every time.
You see I am not really a breast man, I am a brain man, but with porn I am a breast man, even though I know they hold my interest not. I am told that breasts are very important. They are a superficial way to get to know a woman; they are a stand in for personality when you can't ever get to know them, them the person. Let me describe my lady love. She is vulnerable and she is intelligent. She is sensual and she will soak up all the love that you can give her. People say that she has a pretty face, but I can't see it, I don't see it because I only have eyes for her brain. Her chest is flat and her belly a mess of stretch marks, testament to two children and poor health, but I don't see it. I see none of it.
It was good to be with her one last time, for only an hour, a very short hour. We came together like we had not been apart. As if the intervening time had not happened. It will not happen again, but it was no true ending, a final pause. She will go on with her boyfriend, whom she fears and he with her, a woman who he does not trust and needs to constantly punish and I who must go on and see if there is room for someone else in my heart.
…
I have a house that is quickly emptying. The other day I had a local charity come by and pick out what they want for sale and they chose a few very heavy pieces, but left a few other very heavy pieces: a couch and a table, a few other smaller pieces. There are two mattresses and two bed frames that need to go and a few other chairs an old computer and other stuff. I need to load them up and remove them to a garbage dump in one load. I need to do it soon. My father wants to help, but I am loathe to ask for his help. He is strong but he is old too. I don't want him hurt. But I don't see who else I can ask. I am trying to keep my move as quite as possible. I want to sneak out like a robber in the night.
My house seems empty with only a few things gone. My room is half packed up. I guess tomorrow I shall move into the other room and dismantle my old room. Clean up the kitchen. De-clutter the rest. And I have given myself ten days to move.
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