He read an old post and wondered how long some things could go on but he didn’t spend much time thinking because he knew.
Some things could go on for decades and maybe a life time because you didn’t get to spend time figuring out fantasy or fiction.
You didn’t get to see if your fantasy could be real because circumstances got in the way and you or another couldn’t or wouldn’t take a chance.
Sometimes he looked at himself in the mirror and wondered if the crap he had gone through had made it more difficult. Because he had been through all kinds of hell during the last several years.
It had been unexpected and among the most painful and challenging experiences he had ever encountered. There had been times when he had thought about reaching out to say he needed to be completely open and vulnerable with someone.
But he hadn’t done it because he wasn’t convinced she would do it.
He was certain if he was dying or in the most desperate of situations he could ask and she would do what she could but this wasn’t desperate.
Though there had been times when it had felt like it.
So when he looked at himself he felt like he looked like hell, like he had gotten his ass kicked every day for the past four years.
And maybe that had hurt things because physical attraction could be impacted by shit like that.
A dear friend told him that this kind of thing didn’t happen. She said that when a woman truly loved a man she might look at him and think he looked like hell, but a part of her would always see him as attractive.
That didn’t mean that she would act on it or interpret attractive as time to get naked but it did mean if she were open to relationships that such a man might have an opportunity.
She followed up with a 15 minute explanation that hurt his head because it made no sense to him and he was grateful she had no idea there was a real situation in mind when he asked the question because he had no interest in sharing a story or answering questions.
All he really wanted to know was the basic answer to the initial question. Truth was he was working hard at the gym because the person who hated the way he looked was him.
And the last time he had seen her in person something had clicked and he had wanted to tell her she was fucking beautiful but that might have created issues and he didn’t want to manage those.
So he thought it was too bad he couldn’t magically be trapped in a Ritz Carlton with her for a week.
He wanted to have her again in every way and position, but mostly he wanted to lie in bed with her and know they could talk as they once had, best friends in love.
Maybe that was the biggest fiction and fantasy of his almost middle aged years, or maybe not.
It was certainly more pleasant to think about than the chaos swirling around him.
He knew he would find a way through that, but he didn’t look forward to what would be required. It could be ugly and he was less interested in dealing with that than he had ever been.