Smile.

Remember that jump drive I found a few weeks ago? Sure you do.

So I was taking a closer look at the photos on it and I came across two of them that stopped me in my tracks. They were taken over 10 years ago, in a hotel room, in a moment of post-coital bliss. THAT GUY and I laying in bed together, my head on his chest, our fingers woven together. I recall being surprised that he allowed me to take the photo and include any part of his face, though really all you could see are his neck and chin. But you can see the entirety of MY face, and my smile. A smile I haven’t seen or felt in a long time.

Even as I type this, I’m brought to tears and I don’t know why. Is it because I miss him that much? No, I don’t think so- that part of my life is over and will never come again. Neither of us is the same person we used to be and we could never recreate those feelings. But I miss those feelings. There’s an overwhelming swell of sadness that fills me when I see those photos and I can’t help it. Sadness at what was lost and what will never again be.

I’ve resigned myself that I will never have that kind of passion and love that I once dreamt of- that time has passed for me. What I had with THAT GUY is as close as I will ever get to that storybook experience. When it was good, it was GREAT, I can’t deny that. But the way it ended tainted the whole experience and I am now too cynical to believe I’ll ever have another chance at that type of love. Frankly, I’m not inclined to make that investment in another man again anyway.

But those moments, laying tangled like the branches of a tree, safe and whole for just a few short hours. What an amazing feeling that was.

Two weeks ago I was training for a match and I made an amazing shot that was damn near impossible for me. My coach got it on video and when I posted it to my Facebook, the overwhelming comments it received weren’t about the shot itself, but about my smile afterward, how big and beautiful and satisfied it was.

But if they only knew.