amo, amas, amat

By A.E. Bayne

How do you write about love from a hundred angles? What a task, for every side is different, but three years into this love affair and I still don’t have a grip on any solid surfaces. It eludes me, eludes us, and yet we hold onto each other, sliding over each surface testing their shapes.

I don’t want to say that he is my soul mate, because in this pragmatic stage of my life I feel I’ve grown far beyond the boundaries of pop culture terminology. There was a time when I would have screamed it from the dome of the Capitol, but no longer. No, he’s simply a man I can’t seem to shake; and perhaps I’m a woman he can’t quite rid himself of either. In that way, we are perfect for one another.

Years into this thing, we’ve tried dating, being “just friends”, casual sex (which was never very casual considering that we have a long history that winds its way backward to our adolescence), and even avoidance. The last never seems to take for very long. Now, we have skidded onto the next plane, love.

It’s an odd word, love, so symmetrically eloquent. Its “l” takes hold of you, forms in your mouth like a flickering kiss, then leads you into a deep throated, guttural “uh”, a sigh of satisfaction. The biting “v” flirts, top teeth touching bottom lip, until the word finally whispers away on a breathy “eh”, barely a whisper in the ear. The word hovers in the air with a sensual physicality. So to say that I love him, and he me, is a powerful development in this journey that we set upon in the parallel.

Odd, the conversation, and how the word has changed between us over these three years. I think I was the first to jump in with it two years ago, long after we had stopped our attempt at a traditional relationship. A quick “love ya” at the end of an email started it all, the “ya” giving it just enough jovial frivolity for it to pass under the radar, but just enough importance to let him know I was feeling more. Then, emboldened by his hearty replay of “love ya too”, I stepped further onto this slippery slope and told him one night, after hours of sex and laughter, “I love you.” I remember that I was so careful to keep my tone just earnest enough for it to seem unintimidating. Then, adding a support beam, he responded, “I love you too.”

So, for over a year now, through hot and cold periods, through dating other people and sharing feelings, he and I have continued to add planes to our relationship (which we do not call a relationship), built upon a growing sense of honesty, friendship, desire, and love. When this latest plane shifted into place, both of our worlds shook a bit. There was an accident, a typical prophylactic mishap, and I was certain I was pregnant. When it turned out that I was not, I called him and we talked for long hours about what it could have meant for us. Though it was terrifying, it also brought us together. He wanted to see me immediately, so we set a date for the weekend.

Yes, this most recent plane is a glossy one, one where he walks through my door and kisses me and time passes between us without notice. He holds me close and breathes “I love you” into my ear before I have even offered a hello. This surface is more transparent than the others, a window of sorts, yet I also fear that it is the most fragile and wont to cracking under to weight of what each of us wants.

I do wonder how many walls we will build together, and what type of structure this will be when we are through. I wonder if this latest design is the foundation, or rather a back door through which one of us will emerge one day and never look back.