20 comments/ 15983 views/ 3 favorites Praying For Hope By: WmForrester Since we met in the summer, it was somehow appropriate, befitting to the season and to the warm temperatures that we should part in the summer. Only, this time, the weather had changed for the worst and there was a significant difference in the climate. Even though the day of our meeting and the day of his departure had similar temperatures approaching 90 degrees, the fever I felt, when finally meeting him, had cooled to an icy frost by the time he left me. "I'm sorry, Liz." "Bye-bye Bill." It's funny how circumstances can change things, even my perception of the weather and the effects of the temperature were at the mercy of my emotions. Basking in the bright sunshine of a warm and cloudless summer's day, when we first met, loving life and loving him, it was the kind of day that everything felt so right and nothing could possibly go wrong. Love at first sight, feeling good about everything and everyone, I was in love. "I love you." Then, five years later, fuming in the humidity of a hot and hopeless summer's day, hating life, hating him, and hating myself by the time he left me, it was the kind of day that everything felt so wrong and nothing could possibly go right. Depressed and disillusioned, feeling bad about everything and everyone, I was alone, again. "This sucks!" If I were to look to Heaven, detach my feelings of disbelief, and embrace the delusion of wishing upon a star, I'd believe that the stars were aligned for me, when we met that fateful day. There was something in the air that made our love affair feel so right. In the way he looked, he was tall and proportionally well built. It was obvious that he worked out. "Twinkle, twinkle little star." Reminding me of my Dad, when my Dad was younger, and maybe being in love or just missing my Dad, I had imagined that Bill smelled musky and of flavored tobacco and aged whiskey, even though he didn't smoke or drink hard liquor. Steadfast in his political beliefs, resolute in his religious convictions, and anal with his routine, he was hard, yet mushy enough around the edges for me to find his soft spot and for him to comfort me, when I needed a big hug. He made me feel so special, whenever he held me in his arms and I knew, finally, he was the one and this was good and for keeps. "I love you so much." Thinking that I'd never find the right person to begin another long-term relationship, after a failed marriage with a drunken husband, who cheated on me with my best friend, my sister, my neighbor, and finally the babysitter, now there's a story I should write. "Do you know how difficult it is to get a good babysitter?" I swore that this time around would be different, but I'm still a sucker for love. "Get out! Go! Leave! I don't want someone who doesn't love me. I deserve better than you. Just go. Now!" Tired of the bars, the liars, and the cheaters, older now and knowing who I wanted, as much as who I didn't want, the man that I'd give myself to, this time, would be my forever soul mate. Only, I soon found out that nothing is forever. "You're married? I don't believe it. With how many kids? Asshole." Figuring by corresponding with someone before meeting them, screening them before being blinded by the physical attraction of them and blindsided by their eventual and final, honest confession, after getting involved with, yet, another loser, I joined a dating service. "You have mail." It was the perfect time of my life, when we started our online relationship. Even now, when my mood mires me down in a disappointed funk and a depressed muck, it still makes me happy to think of the day, the Fourth of July, when I met William for the first time, finally. The excitement I felt for him that night surpassed even the colorful brilliance and explosive sounds of the fireworks that he took me to see. "Happy Fourth of July! God bless America!" Much like the fantastic display of fireworks, only more personally powerful, our first kiss was awash with an eruption of my emotions and his lips softened my heart with the possibilities of a passionate romance. I fell for him that night under the stars. "Look at me. I'm shaking." Bathed in a kaleidoscope of color, lit up by the flashing images, bombarded with the sound of my beating heart that beat even louder than the exploding fireworks, as if this brilliant show was all designed just for me, it was magical. Hearing the explosion in the distance and seeing the radiating and luminous colors burst, and then dissipate, before disappearing, the remnants of the smoke that wafted through the air could have been coming out of my ears, when he pulled me close and parted my lips with his tongue. "Kiss me again." Hotter for him than I've ever been for anyone, but not one to even kiss on a first date, I returned his kiss with as much passion as he showed for me. Wanting him and wanting to make a lasting impression, not wanting to lose him, had he not been such a gentleman, had he asked for and expected me to have sex with him, I would have. "Do you wanna see my tits?" Wanting this relationship to start without pretenses, after writing back and forth to him online for months, I felt that I had known him for years. Holding nothing back and telling him everything, all my secrets, things that I never told my ex-husband, my priest, or even my therapist, I was already crazy about him. "Wait, so you were naked under the kangaroo outfit, when he stripped it off of you?" I thought things with him would be different and they were for a while. Then, after agreeing to live together, once we were comfortable enough with one another, we fell in a pattern of taking one another for granted and not appreciating what each one brought to the relationship. "Did you just fart?" Now impossible to separate the two days, the conflicting, bittersweet contrast of them wired in my brain forever, as soon as I remember the day I met him, I remember the day he left me. A month after our fifth anniversary of first meeting, it was a hot and humid day in late August that he left. Laden with disillusionment, the air made stale by the stench of smoggy pollution, that day was made even heavier with the absence of hope. "Happy Anniversary!" Hope for a second chance. Hope for a new beginning. Hope that the love he surely felt for me would make him stay and not leave. And if he decided not to stay, hope for another relationship to make me forget this one. "I need hope!" Hoping beyond hope and longing for a glimmer of hope, desperate for hope, I needed hope to cling onto for comfort and to get me through my day. Only, it was hopeless. There was no hope. Not taking care in what I asked for, wishing upon a shooting star, I fell to my knees and prayed to God for hope. "Please dear God in Heaven, I need hope to make it through my day. Give me hope today. Give me hope tomorrow. Give me hope forever. I can't live without hope. I must have hope. If you never grant me another wish, you must give me hope." Comparing my perception of the weather on those two days five years apart, our relationship had soured much more than the polluted air. Yet, even the stale air that day was a climatic reminder of everything that had fouled, as if having rotted in the hot sun. Completely decayed, it was poison to the touch. With everything now ruined, how could it have spoiled so fast? "What the fuck happened?" Feeling empty and depressed, feeling abandoned and betrayed, deranged with despair, our love affair was over and he was gone, gone, long gone for good. After believing he'd always be there in my life for me, but for Ruthie, my cat, he took his Bulldog, Buster, and I was alone, again. "I'm going to miss that dog." Not wanting to live without him, dreading being alone with my bad self souring my mood and ruining my normally pleasant and jovial disposition, I stood outside giving him one last little wave hoping he'd have second thoughts about leaving and would turn around to give our relationship one last chance and stay. Unfortunately, he wasn't one to look back and one not to stay where he wasn't wanted, only he was the one who didn't want me. I still wanted him. "Don't go. Please, don't go." He never saw me standing there looking so small and so lost without him to brighten my life, as he used to do when we first met. Now that the fireworks were finally over, he was leaving me for good. And I knew full well, unless he had a change of heart, unless he left something important behind, like me, that I'd never see him again. "Bye, Bill." Then, as his truck, with the last of his possessions, everything that was of importance to him, but for me, his Bowflex, his recliner, his pinball machine, his big screen TV, and his dog pulled out of my driveway for the last time and rounded the corner, my radio played Bonnie Raitt's song, I Can't Make You Love Me. Turn down the lights, Turn down the bed, Turn down these voices inside my head. Lay down with me, Tell me no lies, Just hold me close, Don't patronize. Don't patronize me. Unable to bear hearing the ensuing chorus, my first impulse was to run upstairs, pull the radio out of the wall, fling it out the window, and watch it smash to pieces, so much like this relationship. Yet, when I heard the words and listened to them, as if hearing them for the first time, even though I mindlessly heard and would even sing to this song a million times before, the song crumbled me. 'Cause I can't make you love me if you don't. You can't make your heart feel something it won't. Here in the dark, in these final hours I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power, But you won't, No you won't. 'Cause I can't make you love me If you don't. As I sat on the front steps paying more attention to the lyrics than I ever had before, while already missing William, I knew that this song played for me and was my first step in letting him go and getting over him. I'll close my eyes, then I won't see The love you don't feel When you're holdin me. Mornin will come And I'll do what's right, Just give me till then To give up this fight. And I will give up this fight. Like the emotional basket case that I was, sobbing and sobbing, I swore that this was the last time I'd fall for another guy again. I loved him; I truly did, and still do. Only, how long can I beat my head against the wall trying to get him to notice me, to talk to me, to give me affection, and to give me his attention? When in love, the excitement that I felt then, paled in comparison to the pain from the rejection that I feel now. 'Cause I can't make you love me if you don't. You can't make your heart feel something it won't. Here in the dark, in these final hours I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power, But you won't, No you won't. 'Cause I can't make you love me If you don't." Who am I kidding? I'm a sucker for love. I'm not the type of woman who can be alone for long. I need someone in my life. The affection or lack thereof of an independent cat doesn't translate well on a cold night in November, when wishing I had a warm body next to me to spoon or someone to talk to before going to bed at night and waking up with in the morning. Then, there are those days that you just need a hug, an understanding look, a pat on the ass, a kind word, a shoulder to shed a tear, a big, wet kiss, or a head banging fuck. "Good morning. How'd you sleep? Breakfast is ready. Supper is ready. What's on TV tonight? Good night. Sweet dreams. How are you? Are you feeling okay? Where've you been? I was worried. You look great. I'm horny. I love you. I love you. I love you." It's comforting to know the one I love, the one who loves me, is sleeping beside me to help me renew my spirit and to help me make it through my tomorrows. No one wants to be alone. We all need someone to shoulder the burden of our difficult lives, while helping them to persevere through their problems, too. With someone in my life, I'd have more of a reason to get up and make coffee and breakfast for two instead of only for one. Only... "I can't make you love me, if you don't." I thought he loved me. I was a fool to believe that he couldn't live without me. The same, old story, I thought our relationship was solid and we were just having some minor problems with communication. I never saw the signs of the demise of our love affair that I can so clearly see now that he's gone. "What is it? What's wrong? What can I do to help?" I actually thought that, if we could just talk about what was bothering the both of us, with the love we felt for one another, we could fix whatever was wrong. Only, I found out later, after I made a fool out of myself, that I was the problem. I was his problem. The problem was me, so he said. "You can't make your heart feel something it won't." I told him that I needed something from him to show me that he loved me. I needed him to give me a sign to make me feel wanted and loved, at least that, at least give me that much. Instead of coming home, flopping on the couch, and turning on the television, I needed him to talk to me. I needed to know about his day. The time he spent away from me, counting the time he spent traveling to and from work, was longer than the time he spent with me. "Here in the dark, in these final hours, I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power, but you won't, no you won't." In trying to talk to him to get him to open up to me, hitting him over the head with how I felt, I brought the reality of our failed relationship to a head. Maybe I should have left it alone and not complained. This relationship may have continued drifting and languishing on its own for a few more years, before it eventually self-destructed. Maybe I did myself a favor. "Bill, I'm bored. Talk to me. Say something, anything. Hello? Earth to Bill." Five years is a long time, a lifetime of memories and I've wasted enough time and too much of my life with him and with my husband before him. It's time for me to move on and it's time I found someone who loves me, appreciates me, and wants to be with me for the person I am. Even though I want and need someone, I don't have the energy to do it all over again with another man. Only, I'm so sad, too sad to think of anyone else, but Bill. "I can't make you love me, if you don't. You can't make your heart feel something it won't." He doesn't get it. He doesn't get the importance of having someone in his life who loves him, unconditionally, and he had that with me. What's the use? It's over, he's gone, and he's never coming back. "I give up." He used to call me from work every day and we'd talk about our day with the phone call ending with, "I love you." Now, I have to twist his arm and make an issue of it for him to call me. I worry wondering if he even made it to work or if he's dead on the highway. Most days he tells me that he was too busy with work to call. "Bullshit! Even the President of the United States takes the time to talk to his wife." Then, when he tells me that he has to work overtime or work a Saturday, it's always an argument. "I didn't have time to call you," he'd say. "I didn't even take time to have lunch." Yet, he never looked hungry. He never lost weight. Matter of fact, judging by the weight he gained, I don't think he ever went without a meal. I can't trust a liar and if he was lying about something as unimportant as not having the time for lunch, then what else is he lying about? Was he lying to me about how he felt or didn't feel about me? Obviously, now that he's gone, he was. "For someone who doesn't have the time, doesn't take the time to have lunch, how you could gain weight and when will you have time for me?" Now, everything is a problem. Everything is an argument. Everything is an issue. What he freely did on his own before to show his love for me then, is a big deal to ask him to do now. "Is it too much to ask you for a lousy kiss in the morning and before we go to bed at night?" We don't talk. I talk at him and he barely listens. With his eyes on the television more than me, he nods his head without saying a word to carry his part of a one-sided conversation. It takes two to make a relationship and he was long gone emotionally from this relationship for years, before he left me physically. "Bill the house is on fire, your dog is dead, and they stole your truck out of the driveway." "What did you say about my truck?" Now that I look back, it was my fault. Cooking and cleaning for him, doing his laundry and giving him a roof over his head, I made it easy for him to stay and impossible for him to leave. He had no reason to leave, until I got in his face and until I asked him to love me. Leave me or love me, it's your choice. It wasn't a bad choice, but I guess he thought it was. "Why? What happened? How did it all go wrong so fast?" I don't understand and he can't even take the time to explain any of it to me. How could he suddenly not have any feelings for me? He would have been content just to allow this empty relationship to continue, so long as I didn't complain. Only, deep down inside, I knew it was over. I just couldn't face the reality of my life without him in it. "At least I have someone here in body, if not in spirit." It was my birthday last month and he asked me what I wanted for my birthday. In a mood because he hadn't talked to me for days, would rather talk to the mailman, the neighbor, his ex-wife, who he hates by the way, anyone but me, I told him that it was inappropriate for him to buy me anything for me birthday. I figured that would generate some dialogue and a better gift, even. "Please don't buy me anything for my birthday." "Okay," he said without even looking up from the newspaper. Okay? One word, two syllables, no argument, he just agreed to give me my way, when he never does anything I ask him to do. So, he didn't. He didn't buy me anything for my birthday. Allow me to clarify; he bought me nothing for my birthday. "It's my birthday? Where's my birthday gift? It must be a surprise." I still have a difficult time understanding how he could do that, especially with all the money I spent buying him thoughtful gifts for his birthday. Yeah, I told him not to buy me anything, but I was hurt and angry at the time. I didn't really mean for him not to buy me anything. "I can't believe that cheap bastard didn't buy me a gift." I had a difficult time believing that the one, special person in my life; the person I depend on to help me get through my day emotionally and spiritually didn't think enough of me to buy me a birthday gift to celebrate my birthday? I was crushed. I was hurt. I was angry. "I still can't believe he didn't buy me a gift. He's got to be kidding? I guess he doesn't want supper or the house cleaned or his laundry done." He gave me a card, not even a special card or a romantic card; it was just a generic birthday card with the words, "Love, Bill." I'm surprised he didn't write, "Regards, Bill or just Bill." The word love he signed was as meaningless as Hallmark's Happy Birthday sentiment. He didn't even take the time to write anything in the card. There was nothing cute, or funny, or meaningful for me to read and that I could take away with me to cherish later. He just left it on the toilet, so I'd see it when I'd wake up and go in to pee. Hitting me offensively, how awful it was to find my birthday card in the bathroom perched on the toilet seat. Appropriately, I should have defecated on it and handed it back to him. "Here's the return of your smelly card. Thanks for a shitty birthday." Instead of being excited and looking forward to going out to do something fun and memorable, there was nothing happy about my birthday. Then, again, this is one birthday that I'll never forget. Praying For Hope "Happy Birthday to me." As usual, we went no where and did nothing. As usual, we stayed at home and stared at the television, while he patted the dog and I pet the cat. As usual, we barely said anything to one another. It was just another miserable day made more miserable by his lack of concern for me on the day of my birth. "Happy Birthday to me." As far as he was concerned my birthday was officially over, when I said I didn't want a gift and when he handed me his card, a card that was as empty with sentiment, as his heart is for the love of me. No cake, no candles, no presents, and no party, the way he made me feel on my birthday made me wish I was never born. "Happy Birthday to me." Yet, I was wrong to expect him to give to me what I wanted, needed, and should have given to myself. I was wrong to be so needy and dependent upon him. Instead of expecting him to care, I should have not expected anything from him and been surprised if he had treated my birthday, as the special occasion that I had hoped he would, the same special way that I treat his birthday. "I still can't believe he didn't buy me anything for my birthday." Still, not of that metaphysical mindset, where I needed to go and sometimes disappear to save myself, still hurt by his insensitivity, how could he do that to me? How could he take me so literal? Why didn't he ignore what I had said and not only understood that I was upset but also why I was upset? "Maybe he's hiding something in his truck. I have to take the trash out anyway. I'll take a walk by his truck bed and take a peek inside." Yeah, sure, he's a thoughtless and insensitive man, but he's not mean and stupid. Why didn't he buy me something to celebrate my birthday anyway, even though I told him I didn't want anything? Surely, it wasn't the gift, it was the thought and he wasn't even thinking of me and thinking of how I'd feel not being remembered by him on my special day, my birthday. "Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to me." I needed and he needed to show me that he cared enough about me to not only understand that I was hurting but also to know that by buying me a birthday gift, the emotional connection of receiving a gift from my lover would have lifted me out of my funky doldrums. The hurt that I felt with him not acknowledging my birthday would have been less if he had slapped me. I cried for days, I was so upset and he didn't even ask me what was wrong. "It must be that time of the month," I heard him say under his breath, when he left the living room to get himself another beer, without even asking me if I wanted anything. "I hate my birthday. I wish I were dead." Even though I said that in the privacy of my room, I didn't mean it. My birthday is my favorite day of the year. It means more to me than Christmas. Born July 26th, I'm a Leo. And I don't wish I'm dead. I'm glad I'm alive. Really, I should have a problem. "What if I were sick or blind or crippled or homeless?" Only, it was obvious that he no longer cared. Now that my one special day, my birthday, was over, he was already out the door and on his way to work. I felt so empty and so alone. Used and abused, I didn't feel loved. "Bye. Love you. Be careful," I said standing on the front door stoop with my arms wrapped around me, so much in the way that he used to wrap his arms around me. Not nearly the same, wrapping my arms around myself wasn't nearly the same feeling of having his arms wrapped around me. "Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock." It's funny how I never heard the clock, until I was alone. Now without him here, I was alone and already feeling lonely with him running from me to seek his familiar and comfortable shelter at work. He said he had to get in early. Missing my usual routine, he didn't even take the time to have a cup of coffee with me. "Aren't you going to have breakfast? Then, you'll be skipping lunch, too. You can't go without eating all day, Bill. Bill? Where'd he go? He left for work without saying good-bye." Even though I had a job to go to, too, it was just a job. My job wasn't a place where I ran to from the reality of my thoughts and used as an escape from my life. There was nowhere for me to hide from the truth that he doesn't love me anymore. "I'm leaving early today. I have a doctor's, dentist or hair appointment, I think. Actually, Bill left me today." Unable to let me go before, he'd shower me with kisses and tell me he loved me and would miss me all day, while he was at work. Now, looking right through me, as he backed his truck out of the driveway, he didn't even see me waving my good-bye. "Bye Bill. Take care. Drive safe. Love you. Call me." Had I been standing in the driveway, he would have backed over me. I wish I was so independent and self-sufficient that I didn't need the love of another. Correction, it's just me whose love he doesn't need. "I should have known then that I couldn't make him love me, if he doesn't. I couldn't make his heart feel something it won't." Only, too blinded by love to see, I didn't know any of that until later. If I call him at work, I get his message box. When I did get him on the phone, he always sounded rushed, impatient, and nearly annoyed that I had called. He said he was busy. He said he had a lot of work to do. He always blamed his inability to even talk to me on the phone, even for just a few minutes, on the stresses of his job. Only, whenever I met him at his workplace for lunch, smiling and relaxed and joking with his co-workers, he always looked so happy to be there, happier to be at work than to be home with me. It's obvious to me now that his work was his salvation and his retreat and not the stressful prison that he had painted it to be. "Please leave a message at the sound of the tone or press six, six, six for more options." Except for the occasional hand jobs and blowjobs that he expected I'd give him, we haven't had sex in more than a year and I told him that I miss the intimacy of being made to feel special. It wasn't like that in the beginning. We couldn't get enough of one another; he couldn't get enough of me. Now, when I'm done taking care of him sexually, he just rolls over and falls to sleep. "Hey, what about me? It's my turn. I'm horny, too. Can't you even give me a pity fuck? How about a wet kiss goodnight, a slap on the ass, and a thank you for the blowjob?" I wanted to say all of that, but I never did. I didn't think I had to tell him. How could he be so selfish? It hurt just to think those negative thoughts, that he didn't give a care enough about me to give a care about my emotional and sexual needs. I was too hurt to voice the reality of them and to give them credence by saying them to him. I was embarrassed that he was even like that and when my co-workers joked with me about all the affection I must be receiving from my new hunk of a boyfriend, I was hurt and angry all over again. "I'm so horny. I'm so lonely. I'm so restless and bored that I could scream. Sorry, I just did and I don't feel any better." Frustrated and horny, I miss his touch. I miss him holding me. I miss him kissing me. Yet, it wasn't so much about the sex, as it was more about the affection and the attentiveness or his lack of affection and attentiveness to me. Where he made me feel unique and desirable before, now that the fireworks are over, he makes me feel ordinary and invisible now. "Gees, Bill, you almost knocked me over and you stepped on my foot. Didn't you see me standing there holding this gun pointed at your head?" I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed that I gave him so much of my heart and that it wasn't appreciated and reciprocated. I can't help but feel like a fool. I feel foolish for the loving things that I said and the loving things that I did. Only, one doesn't make for a love relationship; it takes two. A sucker for love alright, I am that, a sucker. "Speaking of being a sucker, maybe I should go see a fortune teller." It's obvious to me now that he's gone that I no longer lit up his life. Extraneous to his existence, it's still mind boggling for me to think that it's over and that he's never walking through my door again. When he was with me, he looked right through me, as if I'm not even there in the room with him. I gave up trying to engage him in conversation. What's the use? If he talked to me at all, he only talked about his job or about sports. Never wanting to talk about me, I can't remember the last time he paid me a compliment. How many times have I voiced the same issues over and again? At first I thought, he just doesn't get it. Now, finally, I get it. Now, I know, he just doesn't care. "I can't make you love me, if you don't. You can't make your heart feel something it won't." I wish I never heard that song because it's driving me mad by constantly popping in my heard, as if being shaken by the reality of him not loving me. Now, with the melody and lyrics put to the sadness of being rejected and unloved, his lack of feelings for me makes me wish that I had never met him. "Maybe, if I put on Bill's old AC/DC tape that will clear my head of Bonnie Raitt." With him holding the remote control and controlling what I watched and when I watched it, I can see the parallel in the way he controlled my life. Constantly and continually flipping through the channels, so much like our daily decisions, without asking for my input, we'd sit there staring at the television, as if we were two inmates in the recreation room of a mental hospital. He gave his dog more attention and his dog showed me more affection. "Yeah, I am going to miss that dog more than I will him." Distant and cold, never asking me anything about my day, I figured by his sudden disinterest in me, that there had to be another woman. "Is there someone else?" He told me there was no one else and I believed him. Then, in reassuring me that there was not another woman, he expanded upon it. "Why go out for hamburger when you have steak at home," he quoted a line attributed to the late Paul Newman. "What? Did he just say what I think he said? Are you kidding me? You've got some fucking nerve," I wanted to say and should have said, but I was tired of fighting with him. Feeling pathetic and needy, I was done with begging for his attention and affection. I don't know if he thought he was being funny or cute or somehow complimenting me by comparing me to a piece of higher quality meat over ground beef, but his comment fell short of his intended target. If anything, his comment made me angry that he thought he was showing his cow of a woman the respect she needed by not cheating on her. The image of his analogy made me want to get up in his face and "Moo!" "Moooooooo!" What about sexually satisfying me? What about my emotional and sexual needs? Hello? What about me? Why is it always about you? Between giving you hand jobs and blowjobs, you're always horny and you're always so frustrated, well, what about fucking me, literally and figuratively? "Why go out for hamburger when you have steak at home? I'll tell you why, asshole, because your steak is frozen. You've never taken the time to remove me from the freezer and defrost me. Now, look at me. Alone, crying, and wanting to eat everything all at once, I have freezer burn on my ass from the imagined cold touch of you," I wanted to say but, for fear that he'd go to the nearest tavern and pickup a hamburger with all the fixings, I never had the courage to confront him in that way. "Want fries with that tasty burger," I imagined John Travolta asking him in the character of Vincent Vega in Pulp Fiction. I imagined my ex-significant other, William, ordering a royale with cheese and leaving me for another woman. It would have been better if I could have blamed his lack of desire for me on another woman. At least then, I'd have an enemy to fight. She would have given me someone to hate. At least, if he had fallen for another woman, I could have confronted her. I could have dealt with his love for another more easily than having to deal with his total disrespect and disregard for me. It hurts more when you don't know what happened to make him not love you anymore. "I can't make him love me if you don't. I can't make his heart feel something it won't," Bonnie Raitt's words relentlessly continued to haunt me. I wish I never heard her damn song. I can't remove it from my head. Yeah, I can't make you love me, if you don't, and if you won't. Maybe by loving myself, I'll find someone else, who will love me in the way that I deserve to be loved and in the way that I can love another. "Goddamn it, why aren't you attracted to me? Now that we have a history together, I'm still the same person you met five years ago, only better. I love you. Why don't you love me?" Finally, I had the courage to confront him and tell him how I felt. I articulated everything. I was proud of myself for not forgetting anything and having the courage to mention all my concerns, even him not reciprocating the sexual pleasure to me that I so freely gave him. I thought by clearing the air, things would be different, better. I thought with a clean slate, we'd have a fresh start. Who knows, maybe we'd even make it all legal and get married? "I still love you," he said. "I'm just not in love with you. Sorry, but I'm not attracted to you anymore." "Still love me, but not in love with me? Not attracted to me? Tell that to your sister. I'm your fucking girlfriend. Asshole!" "See? You're too negative," he said. "Negative? Negativity has nothing to do with how I feel about you and how you don't feel about me. If I'm negative, it's because you ignore me. I'm hurt. We don't do anything. We don't go anywhere. We don't have sex and you can't even talk to me. What the fuck? Who wouldn't be negative in that kind of nothing relationship? And you didn't even think enough about me to buy me anything for my birthday!" "If it's such a nothing relationship," he said, "then, why would you want me to stay with you?" He looked at me and smiled. "You said you didn't want anything for your birthday." "I was hurt and angry when I said I didn't want anything for my birthday. Besides, since when do you do anything that I want?" He had a point about the relationship though. Why would I want him to stay? Yeah, I still love him, but he doesn't do anything for me to make me love him. So, why do I love him? I'd need years of therapy to answer that question. Only, what he said, "If it's such a nothing relationship, then, why would you want me to stay with you," was like being splashed in the face with a glass of cold water, when just waking up from sleep. You're right. I don't want you to stay. "Get out! Go! Leave! I don't want someone who doesn't love me. I deserve better than you. Just go. Now!" Oh, yeah, what he said woke me up alright, only it still hurts to be unloved, not attracted to, and rejected. After wasting five years of cooking and cleaning for him, while working my job, I feel so alone and so empty. Used and abused, I couldn't help but feel taken advantage of by the rejection of him. I'm tired of waiting for him to love me. I tired of trying to find love. I'm tired of never being worthy of someone's love, appreciation, and respect. I'm tired. I told him that the only time he tells me that he loves me is when I tell him that I love him. Then, as if an echo that makes me feel as empty as the expansiveness between two uninhabited mountaintops, he responds, "I love you, too." I think it'd be more meaningful if he had just said, "ditto." "Ditto! Ditto! Ditto!" I told him that he doesn't even touch me. And even after I said that, I was expecting him to give me a hug that always culminated with a kiss, before him reaching down his big hands and cupping my ass and before feeling my tits with me feeling his cock. I could use a little groping right about now. Instead, he sat on the couch with one eye to the television, until I turned it off. Then, he looked at me, as if he was mad that I turned off his only window of escape from me and from my nagging and annoying voice. "I can't do this anymore, Elizabeth. Everything is an argument. I just want to sit here and vegetate. I'm tired from work and this relationship is too much like work. I don't have the energy to deal with whatever it is you think you need from me. I'm tired of arguing with you. Obviously, I'm not the right person for you. Obviously, I don't give you what you need." Asshole, I thought and "Fuck you," I said. "I don't need anything from you," I said storming upstairs to my room and slamming the door so hard hoping to slam him out of my life and out of my heart, but he was still there in my mind and in my heart. Still trying to salvage something that was already dead, I told him we don't go anywhere and we don't do anything. He said there was never any extra money for entertainment. Yet, he always found a few dollars to meet his friends at the bar, attend a ballgame or to buy another tool or something for his precious truck. In the way that he loves his truck, he made me want to get a Ford logo tattooed on my ass. Maybe then he'd cherish my tattooed ass, as much as he shines the chrome of his F-150. "How do you like me now that I got my ass tattooed with a Ford F-150 logo?" "Liz, the neighbors can see you. Pull your pants up, please." Perhaps, had I allowed him to talk first, had I allowed him to tell me how he felt, I wouldn't feel so torpedoed by his confession. Only, he never speaks, until I start the conversation that always turns into an argument. He caught me by surprise when he said, "I love you, but I'm not in love with you. I'm not attracted to you anymore." What do I say to that? No matter what I said, how can I say anything to fix that? What? You love me but you're not in love with me? You're not attracted to me? When did all that happen? How could you not love me? Where was I when you suddenly lost the attraction for me? I'm still the same woman you met and fell in love with five years ago, only better. I betcha if I got down on my knees right now, unzipped you, pulled out your prick, and began sucking on your cock, you'd be plenty attracted to me. "I love you, Liz. Stroke me faster while sucking my cock." He told me I was too negative. Negative? And who are you to tell me that I'm negative. You're certainly not Mr. Positive with your woe is me, down on my luck attitude all the time. "I can't catch a break. I've been playing the same lottery numbers for 25-years and all I ever win is a free ticket." The only thing you're positive about is yourself, your dog, and your damn truck. You care more about your dog and your truck than you do about me. I'm down on the list somewhere after the dog, his beloved truck, his job, the Bowflex, the recliner, the pinball machine, and the big screen TV. "Psst, Liz, you forgot to put beer on the list of those things that I deem more important than you. Beer would be my number one choice." He told me I was too combative, ready to argue and that I even enjoyed the combative spirit of the argument too much. Yeah, well, anything to get you to talk to me, only, just as I can't force the attraction, I can't make him love me, if he doesn't. Unable to afford the mortgage of my house without his financial support, I put an ad in the paper for a roommate, when he left. I figured it'd take a month of two to find someone. With the bad economy and everyone displaced from their foreclosed homes, even tenants, it took a day. "Hi, can I help you? You're here about the roommate ad? Wow. It just hit the paper this morning." I had imagined, fantasized actually, that some young stud, a college kid, agreeing to live with me. Giving in to the fantasy, as a release of the years of sexual tension I felt from living with Bill, I imagined all the flirting I'd do to seduce my tenant over this long, hot summer, ala Mrs. Robinson in the Graduate with Dustin Hoffman. With the pool out back, I imagined sunning topless or taking a swim in the moonlight naked with the pretense that I didn't know he was there watching. Praying For Hope "Oh, I didn't know you were standing there watching me. I'm so embarrassed. Please don't look at my ass, tits, and pussy. Where's my robe?" I imagined him watching me as I toweled off my naked body, before donning my robe to come inside the house. Allowing him to catch me in all manner of undress, even naked, flashing him my panties, while innocently albeit seductively sitting across from him over a cup of coffee, I'd flash him my bra when leaning down with my low cut top to offer him homemade brownies. I could play the cougar for some quick, meaningless rebound sex, anything to help me get over William. "After you finish your coffee and brownie, come into my bedroom. I want to show you something, young man." While I masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with my tenant, I imagined him asking to take a dip in the pool. It was my turn to watch him and I imagined he had a slim, but muscular body. As I fingered my clit, I imagined seeing the burgeoning bulge that ballooned out his bathing trunks. "Take off your bathing trunks and show me your cock." Later in the summer, before he left me to dorm at school, I imagined having a going away party for him, plying him with alcohol and getting him drunk with the hopes that he'd take advantage of me or more accurately, I'd take advantage of him. He'd want me when he saw me in my bikini. He'd kiss me and touch me and I'd feel his cock, stroke it, before going down on him to make him hard enough to fuck me. Yeah, that's what I want. I need a stiff cock and a good hard fuck. "Fuck me, baby. Fuck Mommy good and hard." Only, it was a woman, who showed up on my front doorstep looking for a place to live. In an instant my cougar fantasies disappeared with the possibilities of her in my life. Like me, she had just been fucked over by a guy and dumped. Much in the way Bill had told me, her boyfriend told her that he was no longer attracted to her, too. With that one thing in common, we instantly bonded. "Oh, you poor, poor dear. May I give you a hug?" There must be something in the air, something contagious, the real swine flu, when it comes to men no longer being attracted to their women. It still amazes me that a man can reject a woman who devoted her life to cater to his every whim. What is wrong with these guys? It must be something in the beer that impairs their judgment, commonsense, and sense of decency. "Assholes." Never having been with a woman and not knowing if my feelings would be well received and reciprocated in kind, it was weird, when I immediately felt a strong attraction for her. She was the most beautiful and sexy woman I had ever seen. Heaven sent, her hair, her eyes, her lips, and her voluptuous body, were what attracted me to her. "God, you're so beautiful and so sexy. Sorry, did I just say that out loud?" It wasn't so much that she was so beautiful and so sexy, but she appealed to me and she was all of that to me. She was my blonde angel. Ironically, when she told me her name, fit to be tied, her name was Hope. "Hope? Your name is Hope? Are you kidding me?" When she said her name, I nearly burst out laughing. I wanted to tell her that I prayed for her, only, I was praying for hope, not for Hope. Be careful what you wish for because it's a lot of light years away to Heaven from Earth and sometimes, what you ask for may get lost in translation. "Hope it is. Here's Hope. Hope is here. I found Hope. I now have Hope in my life and Hope is my new roommate." Eventually I told her that I had prayed for her and we laughed about it over a beer. Since I met her, having Hope in my life this summer, it was somehow appropriate, befitting to the season and to the warm temperatures that we begin living our lives together and that what innocently began as roommates, culminated in us becoming lovers. Only, this time, the weather had changed for the better and there was a significant difference in the climate that made me hot for her even on the coldest of days. Even though on the day of our meeting, the outside temperature had cooled to a balmy 78 degrees, the high heat that I felt for her made it seem as if I had a hundred and five degree fever. "Is it hot out or is it just me?" It's funny how circumstances can change things, even my perception of the weather and the effects of the temperature were at the mercy of my emotions. Basking in the bright sunshine of a warm and cloudless summer's day, when we first met, loving life, loving her, and loving myself, it was that same kind of day, every day thereafter, even if it was raining, snowing, or sleeting. Everything felt so right and nothing could possibly go wrong. Feeling good about everything and everyone, I was in love. "This is great." If I were to look to Heaven, detach my feelings of disbelief, and embrace the delusion of wishing upon a star, I'd believe that the stars were aligned for me, when we met that fateful day. There was something in the air that made our love affair feel so right. In the way she looked, she was my height but curvier than me with all the curves in the right places. It was obvious that she was physically fit. "Twinkle, twinkle little star." Looking a little like my Mom, when my Mom was younger, we could have been sisters in the way she looked with her hair as blonde as my hair. Whatever perfume she wore was intoxicating. I think it was Chanel. True in her love for me, and loyal in our commitment to one another, and open to trying anything once, she was soft, yet firm enough around the edges for me to find the right soft spot when I needed a big hug. Feeling loved and comforted, she made me feel so special whenever she held me in her arms. Love at first sight, I knew, finally, she was the one and this was good and for keeps. "I'm so freakin' happy!" The excitement I felt for her that day surpassed even the first time I met William. Hotter for her than I've ever been for anyone, not one to even kiss on a first date, wanting her and not wanting to lose her, we had sex within an hour of first meeting. Now, five years later, things are as good as they were the first day. "I love you Elizabeth." I wanted to say ditto to see what she'd say and how she'd react, but I responded more appropriately. "I love you, too, Hope."