I think I am on the precipice of falling in love…
Who knew what changes a weekend could make? Or a week?
Upon his invitation, I returned the weekend after the wedding to spend a week with Big Spender. Somewhere along the way, he unleashed the siren—or perhaps the succubus—within me, and suddenly I found myself starving for his attention, his touch, his presence.
Now, almost a week in, I am mystified by where I find myself.
How could I have feelings this intense so quickly? How is it that I already yearn for his presence the moment he is gone? How could I feel so completely at ease beside him when, only two weeks ago, I felt so starkly different? How is it possible that I not only feel as though I could tell him anything, but that I want to tell him everything?
Yesterday, I bought Big Spender a card to thank him for his hospitality. Inside, I wrote him a sonnet, invoking the flair of William Shakespeare:
Did holy love or fever light this fire,
That burns so sudden in my waking breast?
Is this the sacred bond that saints desire,
Or but a fleeting phantom of unrest?Thy fleeting beauty captures eager sight,
A golden sun that makes the shadows flee,
Yet shadows lengthen in the coming night,
And superficial grace must cease to be.If lust alone has shaped this breathless state,
It like the winter frost will melt away;
But if true love attends our growing fate,
Our roots shall deepen with each passing day.I cannot tell which path my soul now treads,
While passion spins its gold and silver threads.
I know this is limerence, but God, is it divine!
And for once, I do not want to dissect it. I do not want to temper it with reason or drag it beneath the clinical fluorescent lights of psychology and demand an explanation. I want to revel in it. I want to throw a party in his honor and mine, paying homage to these blissful feelings exploding like fireworks inside my breast and racing across my nervous system.
And yet, for all the intensity of what I am feeling, it feels remarkably natural. Simple, even. I do not feel the need to define it, constrain it, or burden it with expectations of what society dictates a relationship is supposed to look like.
At dinner the other night, I told Big Spender that perhaps the beauty of what we have is this:
This could be everything that you want and nothing that you don’t.
There is something extraordinarily freeing in that premise. We are the architects of this design, beholden to no blueprint but our own. We have the power of God between us to mold it as we wish—to decide what belongs, what does not, what we build upon, and what we leave outside the walls entirely.
Perhaps that is why it feels so natural.
I do not want to complicate something that has become so beautifully simple.
I feel incandescent.
As though something inside me has been struck by lightning and, rather than destroying me, illuminated everything.
I feel myself glowing from within, drawing him deeper toward me like a moth to my flame. And perhaps that should frighten me. Perhaps I should remember that moths do not fare particularly well in that metaphor.
Beware the Sun, Icarus…
But right now?
I want to burn.
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