letting in a lover...

I got an email from an old lover the other day (there would be a major scandal all around in our circles if I revealed her identity, even in "totem muse" terms") we have kept in touch, sporadically, over the intervening years and we quip and flirt and help each other out as best we can, sub rosa.

But she made a comment that startled me, made me realize how much she had forgotten of me over this span. She made a small joke about something and I responded with a personal detail about her, and she was startled that I could recall it.

My God, what sort of romantic would I be if I could not summon the intimate details of those I have been fortunate to love and at least have the illusion of their love in return? By intimate, I do not mean sexual, although I recall that, as well, but truly small and personal things.

The way a woman laughs. A turn of phrase she loves to employ. Her smile when she sleeps. What she loves, what she hates, what she celebrates. The look in her eyes when she speaks of those she loves. Her favourite anecdotes. The socks she likes to wear when she sleeps. Her favourite actors. Songs. Movies. Books. The way she fidgets with her jewelry when nervous. Her birthmarks. The smell of her hair as she lays in your arms.

These are all part of my universe, because I let them in. I would be a liar to say they did not matter, because when you love, what matters to your lover is of consequence to you. In this woman's case, although our friendship has had its ups and downs, I do still love her, always will. It would diminish me as a person to not, just as the scars to be left by the burning off of an unfortunate tattoo is uglier than the tattoo itself.

I don't exile people, no matter what their trespasses. They exile themselves. And I still recall the curve of their head when I help them wash their hair and their favourite part of their feet when I give them a footrub. And their favourite breakfast cereal. And how they order their hamburgers at Wendy's. (Single, cheese, pickles, catsup, mustard, lettuce...right, Psyche?)

That's part of being a real man. And I thank God every day for those who have allowed me into their lives.