Valley of the Muse

Originally written June 2007.

Title: Changing Shape
Author: Miriam Bosiljevac
Wordcount: 820
Rating: Mature for some sexual content
Summary: It’s been a decade since you’ve been together, and he’s not the same person. Neither are you. And that’s ok.

EXCERPT: You might not burn for one another the same way you used to, when you couldn’t wait to strip him of his clothes, or would pull him into alleyways or public restrooms. You may not be obsessed with him the way you used to be. But you miss him when you travel. When you haven’t had time for more than a quick hello and goodbye kiss, and things are busy, and you want to tell him about your day, but he isn’t there.

The thing about living with someone for so long, is that you forget what it means to take things for granted. You cherish him. You tell him you love him every day. But you don’t think anything of it when you snap at him for not getting the laundry done, even though for the past decade he’s finished the laundry every single Sunday and this is the first time he didn’t get it done in time.

You forget that he feels desired, not with your words, but with your mouth.

The dinner you slaved over for hours is quickly devoured, but it doesn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy it in his own way.

Sometimes you need to step back and remember that you were the one who saw him differently, all those years ago, and that he’s not just your lover, your husband, or your saviour. You’ve always wanted his attention, and for the most part, you have it.

You’ve seen the clichés about worn slippers and the seven-year itch, and you think it’s ridiculous, yet you wonder if your flab is unattractive, and you’re jealous when his eyes linger on an eighteen year olds toned body. You’re prone to fits of hysterics and depression, and you think about how he would be better off with someone more stable, more social, more sane.

***

“Explain to me why we have tickets to the symphony this Saturday?”

“Do I really need to justify myself every single time I want to do something?”

“You don’t! I was just wondering if there was anything special about the performance I needed to know about.”

“We don’t have to go. I just wanted to go to the symphony, and this looked interesting. That’s all. Look, it’s ok. I can return the tickets…”

“It’s fine. We’ll go.”

“Fine.”

***

There are a lot of moments you wish you could take back. Words said and left unsaid, because they seemed vitally important at the time. Words and actions that were meant to be hurtful, because he infuriates you more than anyone you’ve ever known.

***

His biceps. His legs wrapped around you. His hands digging into your hips and your waist, holding you up while you’re on your knees in front of him. Hearing him moan every time he sinks deep into you, knowing that no one has heard him like that in over a decade.

The look of bliss on his face as you suck his cock, knowing he can see your smile even as you gag.

Feeling him wrapped around you as you fall asleep, gently rocking against you, tangled together in a sweaty mess that’s the most comforting feeling you can ever think of.

***

Go to work. Come home. Make dinner. Read. Think about work. Go to sleep.

You occasionally remember to notice he’s there too.

Go to work again.

***

You fight in the car. You fight while standing in line. You fight over breakfast. You fight and yet you can’t quite figure out why you’re fighting, why you’re so angry.

You try to talk about your problems and issues and heartache and disappointments, the way you used to when you first started talking.

Really talking. Which would usually lead to sex. And comfort.

But, it doesn’t seem to be working. You’re tired of the negativity, of the circular arguments, of thinking of ways that things can be fixed.

***

You admit you’re in a slump, and begin thinking of ways you should move out so as to hurt everyone less, pointedly ignoring the fact that you would likely be hurt the most. You’re used to pain. Used to suffering. His happiness is what matters, you tell yourself, and you begin to think that the most honourable thing to do is to let him go.

That night he comes home in a great mood, and you feel like ass.

***

“Are we ok again?” he asks, so quietly you almost miss it.

You’re both lying in bed, getting ready to go to sleep, and you could tell that something was on his mind. You were expecting bad news, a break-up, disaster, so his question takes you by surprise.

Are you ok?

You love him. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but he is inextricably enmeshed into your life and your personality and your thoughts. His smile and his excitement makes you happy. He’s your friend and your confidante. Your family.

You might not burn for one another the same way you used to, when you couldn’t wait to strip him of his clothes, or would pull him into alleyways or public restrooms. You may not be obsessed with him the way you used to be. But you miss him when you travel. When you haven’t had time for more than a quick hello and goodbye kiss, and things are busy, and you want to tell him about your day, but he isn’t there.

Only, he is, and he loves you.

“Yeah, we are,” you reply, hoping he can feel the sincerity behind it.

You lie down next to him, turning off the light, and go to sleep.

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