He’d faded, like I knew he always would. I’d severed the relationship about a year ago even though it had really ended months before that.

Dating him was a fantasy and although I knew there was nothing unique about the way he treated me versus his other dates, I decided to enjoy his wealth, kindness and opulence fully and without attachment.

Time at the very fancy spa, lingerie that cost what people pay for rent, services for my house, piercings and scenes so violent and so hot I departed my body. My first visit to the kink club, my first transcendence. Time with him was like a drug, an escape from demeaning employment and my house poor existence. Nothing sustainable and always a well crafted emotional distance, but like I said, I enjoyed it fully and without attachment.

I only play sober and with people who’ve abstained for our time together. He revealed almost immediately that his drinking was out of hand and over time I know he stopped playing with me because he couldn’t honor my hard limit of sober play.

I talked with my therapist about him dying. His drinking was contributing to out of control high blood pressure. He was a walking stroke. He didn’t sleep. He had a history of opiate addiction. I wondered if his girlfriend would let me know if he was hurt or had died. I figured he might just disappear one day.

But over time he faded into a feeling of coolness I visited once in a while. What if he saw how hot I look tonight? What if I see him at the club? Little flickers like that.

My inbox doesn’t send notifications when strangers message me, it stores them and I check for them occasionally. There was the message I’d expected so long ago. The subject was just his name and knew. She was kind enough to message me with some details during a tidy exchange. Poor health and finally a broken bone lead him to relapse. He told me he’d never survive another relapse.

I never expected to see him again, except maybe briefly at the club, cordial hellos and introductions, a melancholy flirtatious look from him, nothing more. But now he’s the young actor with a speaking role on an old Law and Order episode, his rental house is near my upcoming camping trip, he’s the favored son on Succession. I guess he would’ve been all these things and more through out time fading and reemerging as former loves do, until they don’t. I suppose this is why we believe in ghosts. The impression of the deceased glows in the immediate aftermath and we can’t look away.



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Swimming Alone

Swimming Alone

Thoughts on the interconnectedness of a solo life. Thoughtful rule breaker. Wild woman. Chronically ill.