I went out, last night, to that party for East Bay dykes that ends at midnight. So sensible. I met friends, had a drink or two but didn't go overboard, danced hard and hugged folks and laughed and felt good. Yeah, felt so good. I was about to head home afterward, as a couple friends needed help moving some things this morning and I knew I had a full day after that. Putting on my jacket, heading out the door, yeah? Then everyone's like, "You going to Somar? I'm going to Somar! Come to Somar!" And there was a brown dyke exodus, queers en masse, moving south . . . I couldn't not participate.
So we're just walking, right? And right outside of the bar, who do I see but an ex from six years ago who I haven't seen or heard from since then, who fell off the radar and for whom I pined and cried for months after his disappearance. For at least a couple of years after he disappeared, I feared seeing him again. I thought, always, that if he ever wanted to come back into my life, and just say, "Be with me," that I would drop everything and anyone and say, "Okay."
So sometimes the universe waits until you are ready, yes? Sometimes it waits many years to bring back into your life those folks you care(d) about, until you can handle their presence with comfort, with ease, with a smile and a hug and really, really good wishes, and with a little sweet, soft, slow partner dance, and an exchange of numbers so you can have lunch and catch up and not so you can be young and foolish and fall into bed with each other and wonder if you will be able to give the other all the things that will make life bearable. Just another relationship, just another person, just another human to feel lucky to know and have experienced and wish well to . . . just another love.
Thanks, Universe. For waiting until I was ready. It's nice to see him again.
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