The last Forever Love entry ended with me sending a very brief email in response to Paul's letter.  Even after I sent the email I kept reading his email -- that lovely letter laced with phrases like ...

" That's the legacy you left me with, an intense awareness and appreciation of sensuality ... a lifetime of searching for more of what you gave me."

"You, who I've sequestered in a special place in my heart for decades, are a lifelong obsession, the everlasting object of my desire ... "

*sigh*

I read my email to him again. The closing line "I adore you.  I hope you will always remember that." seemed slightly goodbye-ish to me.  Was that what I was doing?  Trying to say goodbye?  I couldn't think straight.  My head said one thing, my heart another.  My head was screaming ... "Ruuuuunnnnn!".  But my heart knew what I wanted.  I wanted more.  What a battle.  As always, the heart wants what the heart wants.  I did want more ... much more!  More is what he gave me. 

Later, the same evening I sent him such a paltry token of affection, there was yet another letter in my inbox from him.

Dear, Dear Susan

I immediately smiled ... not just "Dear" but doubly "Dear".  When was the last time I had butterflies in my stomach.  At that very moment I wished I had enrolled in Evelyn Wood's Speed Reading courses all those years ago when I thought, "Why would anyone want to speed read?"

I admit I wait anxiously for your words (my heart definitely sped up when I saw your message in my Inbox) ... yeah, reality does intrude, doesn't it.  But no matter sweet, you whose memory is like a perfect wave that travels miles and years and finally crests and, spindrift flying in the wind, crashes onto the shores of my life, inundating me with joy.  Although time will always march on, what we have is eternal. 

*gasp*  Be still my heart.  But I'm also thinking, "What did I do to deserve such words?  I've done little to inspire such intoxicating words."  The skeptic in me thought, "Ut oh, look out.  He's gooooood ... maybe too good."

It is funny / interesting / sad: you and I are in some sense soul mates, our connection so intimate and profound.  That such a powerful and lasting attraction formed during so brief a time is really a testament to the wonder that life inspires in us.  And you were, and are, and always will be an inspirer of wonder in me.

Right.  If he could have seen me with my hair tossed up on my head, wearing boxer shorts, a t-shirt and little reading glasses I'm sure I would have inspired wonder .. like wondering, "WHAT happened to her?"  Thirty-nine years happened to me. :^p

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me that gift, the gift that we are all here for, to share the wonder that is our privilege as denizens of this speck of a planet circling one of the countless stars in this universe.  Thank you for helping me feel, to appreciate, to honor, respect and revere this life.  How does it feel to know how you still inspire me after all these years?

How does it feel?  *blink, blink*  Ask me when I come out of this trance.

He continues on more intimately ... more sensually than I ever ... than I ever ... that's about it -- than I ever.  I have to admit, I was a little surprised that he would write anything suggestive to me.  In my writing to him I barely hinted at emotional intimacy.  Physical intimacy was the farthest thing from my mind.  But I knew, from the following passage that what he was describing was intimacy -- not sex.  And, afterall, wasn't my time with him in the backseat of that car thirty-nine years ago what has been in my mind since?  Didn't we feel the first blush ... no, first rush of passion together?  He reminded me of how innocent we were  ...

I imagine it must feel like . . . like the soft swell of your breast under my young hand, your lips on my neck . . .

No touch was ever like his ... no neck ever smelled or tasted so sweet.

And, he reminded me of how innocent we no longer are and what, as adults, we're capable of ...

. . . or my middle-aged hands caressing with utter delight every contour of your face, every curve of your body, wanting only to please you, because that is what you deserve, to be pleased and pleasured, rising and falling in waves that bear us finally to the beach of that promised land of complete ecstasy, our hearts and souls completely entwined, and we are completely fulfilled, completely at peace, completely in love, complete ...

Oh no he did not!  Did he just describe making love?  Is that what's it's like?  Is that what it's supposed to be like?  Could it be like that?  Ohmigod!  What's he doing to me?  Did I invite this? And if I did invite this ... I wish I could remember how.

Ah, I get carried away so easily thinking of you.  And I will always think of you, fondly, rapturously, because of the special person you were, and are, to me.

Carried away?  Yes ... carried away.  It's what I've missed my entire life.

With love, too, for the beautiful woman you were and are, from the boy and man who will never forget

Paul

Give me just a second here to recover.  Even now it takes my breath away ... I can't catch a good breath and my heart is full of a longing I've never know.  This is what he has awakened in me.  It's thrilling but frightening.  What am I supposed to reply to that?  I've lost my ability to string two words together.  I mean, how do you tell someone that you're a puddle of swoon -- a lake, no ... an ocean of swoon.  I suppose I could have told him that ... but I didn't.

Thinking back now, I could just slap myself upside my own damned head.  My reply ...

My dearest Paul,

I've read your last two emails over and over again.  I can't find the words to tell you how dumbfounded I am.  Such words from you ... how would any woman feel reading such words?

I must admit that I'm too cautious in what I write to you. For now, until I can sit without reality crashing in on my time "with" you, I can only say this . . .

I've thought of you all day.  I feel like I did in high school, longing for the opportunity to steal away with you.

It's time for sleep.  Time to trade the daydreams for sweet dreams . . . of us.

Ever yours,
Friday

Pffft!  Cautious?  Coward!  How many love letters have I written him over the years.  Love letters, poems, pleas -- they would become the Paul Chronicles.

The next morning I went to retrieve the Paul Chronicles from storage.  I hadn't looked at them in a very long time ... not since he blew me off the last time.  (Sorry, Paul -- but that's what you did.  I call 'em like I see 'em!)  I remembered that I had written him a letter that I never sent him.  I didn't see the point.  I didn't find the letter.  But when I opened the box, right on top was this . . .

An Unsung Song

I'm a coward.  I was too frightened to take a chance.  I left my love for you unspoken.  Now, you are lost to me as are the unfinished masterpieces of my soul ...

... an unsung song heard only in my heart.

... an unfinished portrait seen only in my mind's eye.

... an unwritten love story that ended before it had begun.

What have I done?  What have I let slip away?  Why did I wait?

Paul, please come back to me.

Come give voice to my song so that our hearts can sing in concert the sweet sounds of our love.

Come color my world so that together we can paint the face of our love on life's canvas.

Come be my muse so I can write the greatest love story never told ... our story that has no end.

Come hear the unspoken plea I should have uttered long before this ..

"A chance is all I ask, Paul.  Only a chance to share with you the art of me loving you.  And maybe ... maybe, you'll find that you'll fall in love with me, too."

Please, Paul ...

come back to me.

 - - - - - - - - - - -

Even now I can remember the hurt from years ago when I kept looking for word from him but none came.  Anyone who knows me knows that I'm stubborn ... an understatement.  There's one thing I won't do in my life ... beg someone to love me.  It's why I never sent this "poem" -- if you can call it that.  I am who I am -- my life was what it was and is what it is.  If you don't love me, then go away ... which is what he did.

I was confused and scared.  I sat in the middle of the storage unit and cried.  I'm not even sure why I was crying.  Impossible ... it was an impossible situation.  I'll never see him.  Rather, I'll never let him see me. 

It was all so bizarre.  I'm not a fragile woman.  I'm pretty cocky, a smartass and a joker with most people.  But Paul wasn't most people.  He was the boy who had become this man who captivated me and made me wish I was young, beautiful, energetic and free of Multiple Sclerosis.  Oh, yeah .. .and wish that I wasn't in a relationship -- there was always that ... for both of us. 

My mind was reeling.  I needed love and support ... May was just what I needed.  Mama May would help me to clear away the fear and insecurity.

Insecure?  Me?  Not as a person .. but as a woman? ... as a woman it's a totally different story.  I'm not the woman my own fantasies require ... how could I possibly be the woman of anyone's fantasies.

I packed up the Paul Chronicles in the 4Runner and drove to see May and Meecie.  I hadn't made the decision whether or not to tell them about the most recent letter from him.  As I drove, I could hear the blood rushing through me in my ears ... the sound it made was like my body whispering his name.

to be continued - y'all ...