Imprints of you. in Musings

I don’t know what it is.

Maybe, it’s the lingering of the sandalwood in his cologne, which has imprinted on my sheets.
Maybe, it’s the callous texture of his hands as he caresses the softest pieces of my skin.
Maybe it’s his voice, his smile, the way he licks his lips as he argues, debates or whatever.

He’s there. He’s here. His scent lingers and his love sinks it’s nails into me and claws a wound to rest in.
I have no idea how my brain works. I have no idea why I’m so bat-shit crazy about him…I don’t know and I cry about it and fall into a manic depression or it manifests into anxiety because I’m fucking terrified that I can forgive, forget and whole-heartedly love someone who ate my kindness, like a bottom dweller and I fell into the abyss of his empty love..

But was it empty? Didn’t he love me?

Fuck!!!!
I feel like no one understands what it feels like to feel loved and simultaneously feel hated.

His name is Alexander. I married him. I thought that life was happily ever after…

But he destroyed me and I take full responsibility for exacerbating his own insecurities....

Because I am slight of frame, I am delicate in ways that only a lover would understand…he would beat me and take advantage of me…and I don’t take responsibility for that abuse… right, I shouldn’t? Was it my fault?

I might’ve warranted his jealousy and his wrath… but I didn’t warrant his actions based on his jealousy.

But as he wakes up at daybreak. I hear his feet shuffle on the floor. I hear the light switches flick. As the cabinets rustle, shortly I smell coffee and hear the shower. I lean into his pillow and his fucking scent imprints in my memory from the guy that had I had a food fight with at a drive through and proposed in front of all my friends and family to the man that gets up presently to run a company, who for some reason, I feel, lingers between love and atonement.

As I stretch in our bed and sit up… he pulls on his watch and I feel the creak of the bed as his knee firms itself on the mattress and his wet face and his pruny fingers kisses me and exhales on my lips “good morning baby”.

And I become lost in words, in emotions, in scents and it’s a toxic infatuation with him.

I can’t deny that I’m in love with him… I love the way that he smells… I can imagine his arms wrapped around me… I can hear his voice in my mind....I can’t express how I can’t erase him from my psyche…I can’t see how he wasn’t good for me back then and maybe he’s no good to me now.

But fuck! I love him, I loved him and I will always love him. He’s my angel, he’s my remorse, he’s my heart and he’s ingrained in my mind.

I can play memories in my mind that make me love him and make me realize my own stupid infatuation with him.

He’s in his navy suit and he sits on the bed and pulls me to him “I can’t leave without saying ‘bye’” and I squint at him and his fingers intertwine in my hair and I move away from him and he stands up “I love you baby” and he smiles tenderly in the sunlight. He fixes his cufflinks and walks out of the bedroom.

Something out of me I let burst and I bolt to him and hug him… the swish of his suit on my chest… the feeling of the back of his head on my chin… the scent that stays stuck on my facial hair… and his hands wrapping themselves into my fingers. “I gotta go babe!” As he giggles.

And for a second in my life… me… I feel weak and stupid, feeling that his absence becomes the dark void I exist in… and I hate feeling that I can’t be or I can’t exist because I’ve fucked my brain up to think he’s my existence. He’s imprinted in me and I’ve been a sucker… maybe.

I don’t know. When I said “I do” in a wedding that we’re still paying for as a divorced couple… I meant it… I do—until th end of time… until my soul can wash away his affects… and that’s never—

And maybe I’m stupid… but he’s a part of my life again and now I’m working harder and compromising myself as he also compromises himself…

I’ve left my job and become some weird pseudo house husband… and he’s given up being crazy and jealous when I’m out partying with friends.

I honestly can’t believe that I’m pretty happy being a house husband… it comforts me to know that he’s happy… and if he wants to be the sole bread winner of our household, great! It provides me this weird elation that tingles my skin… because he deserves it… and he compromises by doing or not doing things that make me feel independent and not some rich piece of shit who depends on people.

Damn it!! I don’t know how to explain this love that I feel for this guy… and I question myself is it love or infatuation? It it complete sacrifice or compromise?

I was a fucking Betty Crocker in the kitchen and when he came home… I was so happy to just serve him food and eat with him, talk about my errands, he talks about his job… we curled up on the couch and i fell asleep in the nook of his armpit.

I fell asleep on his ribs and he had his right arm over his head and his left arm wrapped around me.