the ache,
…the release.
I want it all with you.
But the signal gets lost inside me.
A ship without a lighthouse.
So I hold you through tiny screens
that have no warmth.
Through endless texts
that offer little comfort.
Through soft words and bated breath
and the relentless ache of “someday.”
My heart doesn’t understand time.
It yearns here, in the waiting.
Teaching me to hope,
to trust.
Making me believe that someday
will eventually turn into
every day
in bed with you.
I read the words a dozen times, and my heart is hammering so loud I’m sure everyone in the building can hear it. I touch my lips as though Jordan just kissed me. Does this man even know what he does to me?
How do I even reply? What am I supposed to say? He’d sent it with no warning. No preamble. Where did it even come from?
Me: You know that feeling when sex is so good it’s no longer about the physical touch but the emotions? Like you’re so connected to someone you feel their soul more than their body? THAT’S what your poem just did to me, Jordan. You made love to me with your words. Sweet, hot, passionate, I-shouldn’t-be-standing-in-the-public-library-reading-this love. My heart is literally beating out of my chest! Okay, not literally because that would mean I’m dead, but if you could only feel it… like, wow. I don’t even know what to say…
Little bubbles appear like he’s typing back, then Jordan says: What if she can’t help me?
The question throws me off for a second. It’s not what I was expecting, yet it makes everything crystal clear. Jordan is worried about his appointment tomorrow, and it’s bleeding into how he feels aboutus. About me. It’s making him think about sex, about the possibility he might always struggle with desire.
Me:I think the correct question is, what if she CAN? I see the power of medicine literally every day, hon. It might take time,but you’ll find the right one. Until then, know I still love you and I feel loved by you (especially with poetry like that).
When Jordan doesn’t reply, I pocket my phone and return to browsing the shelves. I find a fantasy series that sounds interesting and drop the first three books into my basket, then head to the check-out counter.
On the ride back to the hotel, I get another message from Jordan.
Jordan:I wish you could go with me. You’d know the questions to ask.
I could catch a flight tonight and be with him for the appointment tomorrow, but deep down, I know Jordan needs to do this on his own. He needs to speak up for himself and recognize his needs. If he doesn’t, how will he learn to meet them?
Me:What if I made a starter list for you? Just to get your mind rolling?
