Is it love? – entry no. 74

June 25th

It’s morning and he’s laying in bed, looking wonderful in his striped pyjamas, like a little boy inside of the grown man. There’s a vulnerability in him, but also desire for me, which is exquisite. A door has been opened inside me and I am free to go in and out through it. I’m not sure what that room holds in the light of day, and at the same time I’m filled with a calm I have never known before. The room has always been there, I know that now – but I didn’t know where the door was before.

I’ve been fearful of what might be inside the room. Somehow I’ve had the sense that there are tools in there, instruments at my disposition, powers too great to be found anywhere else. They are powers that I possess and always have, a strong need to live without compromise. Until now, those powers have been too great. But now they’re here and they are everything, which is what they should be. They’re a kind of fundamental energy; it feels as if I am who I am as long as I am here. And so is everyone around me, so we need to be conscientious of each other. But we don’t need to make excuses for who and how we are. There must be room for me just as I am, as long as I remember that I’m not alone in the world. Anything else is unacceptable.

You might say that we have a poet-muse relationship. What do you call a manly muse? Maybe nothing; there was no need to name something that didn’t exist. But now it does exist, so it needs a name.

Later

I’ve fallen in love with him. I am so inexpressibly happy when he says he’s been thinking of me, when he says he’s looking forward to seeing me next weekend. Joy bubbles inside of me. I love it when he whispers in my ear, when he analyses things and tells me everything he knows about life. I love hearing him close to me, but still somehow out of reach.

I really want to be with him, to get to know him. At the same time I don’t want to move in together and I’m battling with my own romantic habits. They must be eradicated and I’m groping for their replacements. Emotions, maybe. Real, true, gigantic and sometimes contradictory emotions. That’s what I have for him, wherever they’ve come from.

When I was in the shower it came to me: a masculine muse can be a rouse. They bring on an awakening of sorts, and it’s important to hold on to that and to not fall back into the romantic dream and forget the new terms of the relationship.

My rouse relationship is:

A lot of good conversation

Great sex

Fun

We see each other sometimes

An open relationship

I’m his muse and he’s my rouse. We can try to call each other girlfriend and boyfriend but it doesn’t quite fit the bill. We’ve been talking about it all day without talking about it directly. We’ve turned inventions, relationships with friends and life in general upside down and all the while the discussion of the two of us has stood just off-stage. Occasionally it came up and we agreed that being together is quite simply exceptional. I understand if he’s feeling overwhelmed. So am I.

Maybe that’s what love means. It’s not falling in love; it’s more than that. It’s about being moved on a human level, about being understood without needing to put it into words, and when succeeding in putting it into words it grows stronger.