Going home.

I wrote this in floods of tears on the plane, on the way back to England, on the 6th of February.

 

 

I’m on my way back to England.

I ache.

I want J so much it hurts me inside.

Throat tight, chest aching, eyes burning with tears I don’t want to shed but have to.

Here, on an aeroplane, in front of probably about twenty strangers, I’m suddenly not afraid to cry and let them see. I don’t care. I miss J so much I feel like the rest of the world should know too.

I have spent three of the best weeks of my life since being depressed here. I feel like I have made huge strides forwards in my healing by letting J as close to me as man and woman can get. He asks me to be in control, he asks me to say if it hurts or feels good.

It always feels good, because a man who treats you like a princess out of the bedroom is going to treat you just the same once you are in bed with him.

He opens doors for me. He laughs at the same stuff that cracks me up. He always tells me to “go relax, baby” and that he “will take care of it”, whether ‘it’ is washing dishes or making a cup of tea for me.

I keep crying. I want him with me, to hold me the next time I have a flashback whilst dreaming. J held me to him, stroking my hair and my arm and shoulder until finally I felt a bit more grounded. He sat me on the sofa, got me a cup of earl grey, and he manfully let me soak his shirt with tears until I finally knew where I was, which house I was in, what year it was and that I was safe.

J has been human. Real, warm and human. I love his little quirks, his routines, and the fact that he is going to quit smoking because he “hates smelling of smoke breath” whilst I am around. Actually, I’ve said to him that on him, it actually smells kind of sexy, but he still wants to quit. Good on him. He is planning to get another job, as well as his music, to support his efforts to come to England to see me.

What am I going to do until I see him next?

I know I will work really hard to get a dance job, sign back up at the bar I used to work at, and try to get modelling work on the side. I plan to make this year a real try-hard year, a year where I can finally dance and then… Who knows?

J will be behind me whatever I do. He watched me dance and told me I was “amazing”, and bought me a drink afterwards so we could chill out. I felt proud of myself, and happy that he finally saw me dance. It’s pretty boring, I think, watching class, but he sat there and watched every last exercise, every step. I want him to see me perform. I want him to see me as I was pre-injury.

I’m crying again.

I miss his smile. Gods, I miss that. It’s only been an hour and I miss it so much already. His smile is so warm and loving, and it lights me up from the inside so I have to smile back.

I told him that I couldn’t wait to see him again. Time is a bastard- I can’t wait, I need him here now. If you’re reading this, J, don’t panic- I should be a little better by tomorrow!!

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve fallen head over heels for J and all he represents to me, all over again: justice, creativity, peace, happiness, liberty, and love.

I have regained them all in these past three weeks whilst living with him.

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