First Time "I Love You's"

Since it's Valentine's Day I've been thinking about how many guys in my lifetime have said those special three words. There really haven't been that many. I've had about five serious boyfriends, out of which, only two have said the words "I love you." This makes me feel really, really good about my choices of men. This is probably the only solid evidence that would support the notion that most of my ex-boyfriends are great guys. Shout out to all of my exes, (if you know I blog, more than likely you'll be reading this). The first time I felt what I understood to be love as a teenager, I was fifteen. This was my first real relationship. He was my bestfriend's older brother, and I had a huge crush on him when I was in seventh grade. I worked very hard to get him to notice me, wore my hair just the right way, wore all the right outfits, made sure I stood where he stood in the hallway every morning, and it worked. Eventually he was my boyfriend. We were together for one blissful year, and three months. We went everywhere together, did everything together, and people loved us together. We were the "It" couple in high school. Although we never actually said "I love you" he did write it in a card he gave me eleven years ago today (and yes I still have it).

It was about six years later before I actually heard a guy tell me he loved me. This was my ex-husband. Our relationship started with a crush as well, but not on the level of my very first crush. I don't even think that is possible. The point is, I was over it by the time we actually met. But it didn't take long for those butterflies to re-surface. He said "I love you" after only a week of talking on the phone. I don't even think we'd gone on an official first date yet. It scared the shit out of me. That should have been the first red flag. I didn't say it back because it wasn't true for me. I don't believe in love at first sight. If I did, I would imagine that both people would have to feel it at the same time in order for it to be real. I can't remember the first time I said "I love you" to him, but I'm certain it was months into the relationship (red flag number 3, number 2 is a whole nother post).

As sad as it may be, I've only ever truly been in love once. Here's an interesting tid-bit about this: It's not my ex-husband (as if that wasn't obvious by now), and this "one instance" that I am speaking of is right now, also, this person has never been my boyfriend. We've never even exclusively dated. No he is not a figment of my imagination (I'm aware of how ridiculous this may seem). He is the person I am thinking of in my last four posts. He is my best friend. The first time he told me he loved me was in a facebook chat (I know, that doesn't count). However, he did tell me again in person. He didn't say it during sex, or after sex, or with the anticipation of sex. We were fully dressed, and sober. We'd just had one of the most memorable nights in with his favorite cousin and her husband (who are now two of my most favorite people in the world). There was nothing glamorous, or perfect, or pre-planned about that night. It just was. Just two couples in love, sharing wine, laughs, and betting on horses. That night defines pure enjoyment for me, but I digress. It was all over us. We had to acknowledge it. As we lay in bed, my head resting on his chest, he nuzzled my forehead, and kissed the top of my head. I tilted my head up towards his face. We kissed. "I love you" he said, with a content sigh. "I love you too," I replied, as if I'd said it that way to him every night before we went to bed for thirty years. We fell asleep. I realize now I've never said "I love you" and felt it at the same time. I usually say it as an automatic response, I never really thought about whether or not it was true. Kind of like the way I always say "I'm fine" when someone asks "How are you?," regardless of how I'm really feeling. It felt wonderful to hear someone say those three words to me and know that he meant it. It was even more wonderful to know that I meant it too. A lot has happened between us since then, but I still feel the same way. I believe I always will.

Love Squared Part Quatre- Elation's Equivalent

It felt like Christmas. I woke up early, earlier than I usually do, to make sure it wasn't all a dream. "Babe, relax" you sleepily say to me, playfully pulling me back down under the sheets with you. You pull me closer to you. I surrender. A streak of sunshine warms my face. A soft giggle escapes my lips as you kiss the back of my neck. Your fingers interlock with mine. I smile and sigh. Relaxation slips in between my thoughts of us the night before. I anticipate what will happen later.
This.
is.
true.
happiness.
defined.

Love Squared Part Trois- Daydreaming

I never stopped thinking about you. I just didn't want to get in the way. I kept you and our relationship under a glass box. Both are so precious and fragile to me. I never wanted to do anything to ruin it. I lived my life. You lived yours. Occasionally, they would meet, and dance together. It was always appropriate for the time, and meaningful. That's the way I always liked it. You were never too far out of mind, though usually out of sight. I got married in the spring. I thought about you every day. As my wedding day crept closer, so did my thoughts of you. You were in my dreams. You were in my heart. On our anniversary, we went to a beautiful restuarant in the city. It was so classic, very old world New York. There were floor- to- ceiling, watercolor murals in pastel shades of blue, lavender, and gray, of different places in the city covering each of the four walls. The lake by the Boathouse at Central Park. Rockefellar Center. Times Square. Music by Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole was playing. I felt like I was in a dream. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, and looked across the table, I saw you. I wished for you. I wanted you to be there in that moment with me. Autumn came and you were everywhere with me. At the coffee shop, where I often sat alone with my thoughts, you were there. I would go to the park and daydream. I took a picture and sent it to you. You said you never received it. I wondered why.

Love Squared Part Deux- Timing

I had one of the worst colds in the history of my life. I had a fever, a terrible cough, and snot to spare. I'd been in bed for about three days, shut off from the rest of the world. I didn't want to see or talk to anyone. It was a Friday or Saturday night, and a Meg Ryan movie was coming on, "You've Got Mail." I was doped up on Nyquil, and planning to watch it and peacefully go to sleep. About an hour into the movie, I hear my mom calling me.
Why is she doing that
she knows I'm sick,
what good could I possibly be to anyone right now?
Leave me alone.
As my thoughts of complaining continue, she pops her head into my room. "The phone is for you." I was about seventeen at the time, and I really didn't use profanity, but if I did, a good, frustrated, DAMN IT! would have definitely been in order. "Who is it?" I asked. My mom shrugged her shoulders, handed me the phone, and closed my bedroom door. I rolled my eyes, and screeched "Hello" into the receiver. "Hey you" I heard on the other end.
Oh no,
why is he calling me right now?
I sound like I've been asleep for a thousand years.
Immediately I tried to clear my throat, which hurt like hell, but it was no use, my nose was too stuffy. At best I sounded like one of the Rugrats, the one with the red hair whose voice sounded as if he had a perpetual cold every episode, and I looked like him too. This was one of my best friends calling, and usually I was always excited to talk to him. We could talk about anything, and we always had the best conversations, but this time, I had to get him off of the phone. "I'm sick" I told him. I explained my plans for the evening and waited for him to politely say "I'm sorry, I'll call back another time." "What are you watching?" was his reply. (Insert expletive here, which ever one you like).
"You've Got Mail" I mumbled, trying to sound terribly annoyed and bothered.
There was silence.
"I'm coming over," he said.
"What?!"
"NO!" I wailed.
"I'm very, very, sick."
"You need some company, it'll make you feel better" he said.
He was not taking no for an answer. The conversation ended, he was coming over, and I looked like shit warmed over. I told myself it didn't matter, we were good friends. I was not interested in him at all. Who cares? I sat down on my bed to continue watching the movie, which, I was in love with by the way. It was at the part where Meg Ryan's character, Kathleen Kelly, is also sick with a cold, and Tom Hank's character, something Fox, unexpectedly shows up at her door with a bouquet of Daisies. Immediately I began to tidy up, comb my hair,and make sure there were no nose crustys hanging around. I did the best I could, but when you have a bad cold, no matter what, you're going to look it.
He gets on my nerves, I thought, but I didn't even have the energy to get upset. By the time the movie went off, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I knew it was "my company." He opened my bedroom door. What I saw makes my heart flutter even right now, at this very moment. My good friend was wearing a huge smile, and carrying a big bouquet of Daisies. How did he know? I was baffled. I don't even remember how I reacted; I just remember a feeling. This was the first time a man had ever brought me flowers for no reason. It was also the first time that anyone managed to surprise me with anything. I didn't realize it then, but I believe I was beginning to fall in love with my good friend in that moment. I was just too teenagery to understand it. So I tucked all of my feelings way down deep inside for a very long time. Timing is everything.

Love Squared Part Un- Love Life

From the moment you touched me I knew I could never go back. I got goosebumps all over. I didn't want to let go. Your embrace felt like home to me; no other hug that I've shared with anyone else since then matters. It had been five years. Where does the time go? Why did it stop the moment our worlds collided again? I wore no makeup, although I really needed to; but you've seen me at my worst. We've been very good friends since high school, almost ten years. I wore my Uggs and a fuchsia cashmere sweater. No stilettos, no blousy top; and you still greeted me, "Hey beautiful." Your smile was warm and unforgettable. I knew from the moment you spoke to me I could never go back. On the ride back I suddenly felt self-conscious. "Have you been crying?" you asked me. "No" I replied, decoding what I thought that meant, "I just don't have any makeup on." I began fishing around in my bag for my lip gloss and my compact. You told me I didn't have to put on makeup. From the moment we got in the car, I knew I could never go back.

The ride home was the best ride of my life. It felt good to be alive. It felt good to be me with you. Even with no makeup, and my Ugg-ly boots I felt beautiful. It was a windy day, sunshine galore. It was made for us; but it couldn't be. We had brunch at a little place you frequent. "Only special, select people get to come here," you told me as we pulled into the parking space of the store front. We both ordered the same thing, the belgian waffle, except you ordered sausage and scrambled eggs with yours. Regretfully so, I can't remember how you liked them. For a brief moment, my mind was somewhere else. What should I do with this ring? It was just sitting there. That day, my one carat diamond solataire, stood up on my finger like a three carat diamond. I couldn't ignore it. It was there. Our conversation was made of the stuff only old friends can share. From the moment we both laughed together, I knew that I could never go back. Something happened inside. When we left the restuarant, it was all different, but the same. We were reaquainted, I could recognize myself again. From the moment I walked through your door, I knew I could never go back. Your place felt like our place. It felt as if we'd only left there moments ago to make a quick stop at the store. It didn't feel like the first time. I didn't feel like a guest. It was more comfortable, more familiar, more permanent than that. I could hear music. Music was all around me. There was a delicate, sweet, scent in the air. You'd taken care to make your home pleasant for me, but nothing about it seemed forced or unnatural. I belonged here. Where had I been all this time?

We both changed into something more comfortable. You snuck a peek at me in my pink bra and black leggings, even though I asked you not to look. I quickly pulled my tee shirt over my head. We were supposed to be napping. I didn't want to miss anything, neither did you. We listened to music, and I heard songs, beautiful songs that I'd never heard before. At some point in my life I stopped listening to music. I didn't realize it until I was there with you. But you knew it. What was old became new again, and what was new felt so fresh and familiar all at the same time. "Who is this?" I asked you, and you always knew. From the moment we listened to music together, I knew I could never go back. Somewhere in a song you pulled me beneath you. I lay there suspended in your bed in a small space between magic and misery. I've never felt my heart beat so fast. I could hear it. I know you could too. Your body provided just the right amount of pressure. I didn't feel smothered or crushed. You supported your own body weight enough that it was comfortable for me to move or readjust if the need arose. But why would I want to do that? Our bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces. I didn't know which parts belonged to whom. I could have stayed there forever with you. It was better than sex; it was the anticipation of the possibilities. Before we knew it, it was time to leave. Where did the time go? I knew from the moment we left your place together, I could never go back.

Squared

I was in a particular kind of mood today, and nothing else could cure it, so I got lost in jazz. I found something there and decided to write it down. This is about as poetic as I'm ever going to get.

In theory you are classic and sophisticated.
To the untrained ear, you are erractic, and all over the place;
you are uncontrollable.
There is no true melody to follow, and everytime I tried you went off in another direction.
But I could feel your intensity, your passion was intoxicating; it made my head spin.
I wanted to turn you off, but I couldn't.
As I listened more closely I could hear your song.
At the heart of this song you just want to be appreciated and adored.
I always have loved jazz.

Sincere Lee

Virginia is for Lovers

I just love how each state has a "slogan" or a "saying" that I'm guessing is supposed to embody everything that the people who reside there appreciate about that state. I've always wondered who had the balls to come up with this concept of branding, and whether or not these sayings have any true meaning in the lives of the people who grew up there. I've lived the majority of my life in Virginia, where the saying is "Virginia is for Lovers." As a little girl growing up here I never really thought about it. Now, however, as a young, soon-to-be divorcee,this saying puts a lot of pressure on a girl. It's so exclusive and exact; "Virginia is for Lovers," in other words, non-lovers keep out. In fact that's exactly how I felt upon returning home. If Virginia is for lovers then what the hell am I doing here? I came here back in the early spring to marry a man that I was no longer in love with. How did you allow this to happen Virginia? Shouldn't there be some sort of checklist, or a "Virginia is for Lovers" handbook that specifies the rules for couples who wish to marry and/or start a life here?; a checkpoint at the Virginia State line where the love doctor checks your pulse to measure how fast your heart is racing when the two of you kiss. Okay, maybe I've been watching too many Meg Ryan movies, but the point is, ever since I've been here, I have been totally consumed with the idea of what it means to truly love someone and be in love. I observe couples all the time. I watch their movements, their body language, the way they look at each other. I listen to the way they speak to each other. I have spent the last two and a half months here looking for proof of this place for lovers. While I'm not sure that every person here subscribes to this notion, or has even given it a second thought, the one thing I am sure of is that I refuse to become a cynical, bitter, divorced woman, who doesn't believe in true love.

Sincere Lee

"There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice"-F. Scott Fitzgerald