Celebrating Eric

Here I am, doing what I do best, critically analysing the latest and shiniest disaster of my life. It's odd, I see him lying there and all I can think of is that he is like Edward Cullen, well sort of...he seems to shine in any light. Now by the time that you get that anology it will reveal itself to not really be politically correct, if you actually do get to getting that anology. I am laughing now on the inside because just like everything else in my life...well the best of things, this for me is bitter sweet.

You hope and you pray that stuff like this doesnt happen to you...and yet you secretly rejoice it when it does because you have wondered what it would be like. Even if it is just an inch of you,that you have always thought is worth nothing anyway.

Ah my adonis by day, strolling with me in the park as if it is perfectly natural...I mean sometimes I forget and then I lean in too much when we are at the movies and catch his scent and smile. I usually try and recover before anyone notices but he tries an awful lot to announce it to the world and so he touches me...inappropriately for my liking, not just because of you know...but because I hate public displays of affection I always want to flinch but luckily I always find that I like the feel of our skins touching more than I like being appropriate.It is still a leap for me.

I laugh when I imagine him meeting my gran, mostly because she is as batty as they can get, well both of them are...in fact so is the rest of the family. I know that they will be fine with it but that like me, they most propably hoped that at least in this respect I would disappoint them and marry from within the tribe.

I keep thinking how he will never be able to describe me by my eyes, unlike Phillipa they are a mere natural dark brown. He will never be able to describe me by my hair, because well it takes taming and awkward questions that motly I would rather avoid. I like his enthusiasm very much but mostly it annoys me. It annoys me that he has to learn all these new things about me and that I never try. I expect that I will not be accepted and so only deal when I have to. But luckily once again I see him in everyone that he adores, so much so that any ugliness in manners that they might portray melts with the minutes and the miles the further I get from them until it can be dismissed as just plain rude. We have been fortunate that we are considered enough to be tolerated.

I tell the worst bedtime stories, but he likes the sound of my voice and insists that he can no longer sleep without one(a bedtime story that is) and therefore I must never part with him.I know that after so long but in so short a time we have gone past what they think of us. I cling to him now like I imagine grease does to any surface...or like a plant to the soil...(a better anology)beacuse I know that though it is very possible that we are ripped apart,if it were to happen then I would surely perish.

It all becomes true now in a sense that it has not ever been before because we are contemplating an attachment that binds us all and as scary as it is for us, it is scarier for them.
Before it was just all theory for them and now they have no choice but to imagine and hope that once that giant belly shrinks an image of him does not emerge. I blame it on the hormones that the idea of being host to a parasite for nine months is welcoming...almost tranquil and filled with many other nauseating references. He watches me in wait like I will disappear if he blinks and yet he wants to be ready to let me go.Poor thing.

We were lying together before I got up, before I decided to stand here by my window and stare out at the moon light, before I decided not to continue without him...although I didnt stand a chance against that choice. Knowing him and letting it all go was after all tantamount to suicide, my body rejecting the thought of it."At least it is not a woman"(I think) , if I had to fight not just those from whence I came but also the almighty, this...well I suppose would in a way have amounted to the same.

He is pretending to not notice that I am up so that he can finally discover whether I watch him sleep, something I have forbidden him to do.I think sickenly that its adorable that he thinks he stands a chance at all against my well set in habits. I lie back down and he gives up feigning and opens his eyes.I wonder if he can see me in all this darkness as he reaches out to hold me.

In the morning we are lighter and heavier for what will be burdensome on our various loved ones. Our bubble is bouncier and shinier and has a lot of extras attached. I even let him peck me as he puts me on a cab. We have decided that it would be better to do it seperately first...to better assess reactions. It will be the first of many tellings, the first battle of what could be a very lengthy war.

Something that happened a while agao keeps me strong, I found a piece of papaer with writing on it a week ago. He was worried that I never fit the bar for porcelain skin or golden locks, that my eyes didn't mesmerise...so he attempted a piece of prose.

"You are gravity, the centre, the heart
The very last breath before life starts
To amaze me in wonder and caprice
Those eyes, that hair...your feet,
The air and manner in which you speak
the lovely nuance of all you bad habits
the way love takes over when its all too much
I could be blind and still notice you
when you are away...oh how much I miss you,
I wish almost the worst of things
that we might not die just for the sake of it,
but the thought of our lives in one
clarifies and defines
there are things made and things that are acquired
never have I ever been happier to be required..."

It gets weird after that.

I often think of what a waste of emotion it would be to not open oneself to such a simple possibility of my skin and his skin. I think "what person would not want this divinity that flows out of me to affect them.".I think that I had never once doubted such an obvious truth, that there are no chosen times and no chosen places or even chosen people. In this space of time that I exist, this was a possibility and it just so happened that it was one that was labelled and factioned off. I am not my past, nor am I a replica or a copy, or even a flimsy residual image,or a diluted version of my ancenstors. I exist in my own right in my own way. I just happen to possess that knowledge and rich history that came to be the pallet for my definition.I choose what to take from it. Here I am...knowing only one thing as an absolute and feeling lucky to know it...here I am waking up at night from a dream to find that my life is better than any dream I have ever had of it.Here I am, the great writer than I am not standing proudly behind an anology of me as grease because it celebrates our existence.Here I am in love and finding that though it may not feed and clothe me, this surely unhealthy attachment makes even the worst of my days bearable...and solidifies everything I am without derogation.