#dennis wasn't my greatest love he was just my first

[cherryfairy-2000]

sometime in spring 2023

I reconnected with my first love recently, 7 years after the end of our relationship and 4 years after the last time I saw him. In between those timelines and lifetimes, I often thought of him as the only one I’d ever love like that. The only soul tie I had ever created. I have loved and been loved since him in those timelines and lifetimes and I believed I had proven myself wrong a few times but the end never felt the way it did when he left. He was the first person to show my young jaded heart that love was real, even when it ended. I remember the rant I gave my mother at the dinner table with tear filled eyes. I was 16 experiencing my first heartbreak and no feeling I had ever experienced had ever felt that real. I spoke highly of him still, through my shattered heart and swollen eyes, tears still racing down my cheeks and eyes that have gotten no sleep. I spoke of gratitude; how grateful I was to love like that, to be loved like that. To feel so deeply and connect to someone in such a way at such a young age.

“The pain was worth it!” I kept repeating, sobbing. “I would go back and only love him harder despite knowing the inevitable end! I would only love him harder and hold him tighter!”

My mother looked over at her 16 year old daughter, crying with gratitude over a broken heart and replied “you are so beautiful.” She herself experienced heartbreak, the end of a marriage just the year before mine and was still in the painful grief process. She was the first of the family to experience heartbreak, a lost love, and I was second. The eldest daughter out of three kids, the middle child and yet I have fallen in and out of love more times than anyone else in my family. They watch my tireless attempts at finding that feeling again like I am a creature at a zoo, dumbfounded at my fearlessness of getting my heart broken again.

He sat across from me for the first time in 4 years and I started to mentally count and compare all the differences I’d notice from the man in front of me to the boy that used to lie in my arms and live in my heart. He has a beard now and I notice chest hair peeking out from the top of his t-shirt. His hair is much shorter and seems darker, still messy but nothing like the shoulder length light blond hair I used to intertwine my fingers in. His smile was the same, his mannerisms too; like the way he uses his hands to talk when he's being lighthearted and playful. He spoke more confidently now, aware and comfortable in his skin. His body resembles more of a man than a lanky young boy which caught me off guard a bit. His eyes haven't changed either and the feeling of his stare has the same effect after all this time.

He told me about his life, his journey through grief and suffering. How he's been committed to healing everything that he avoided in his youth. He can finally cry now, the pressure he used to feel in his face is no longer there. He wears a big tiger's eye crystal around his neck and smiles wider now. His laugh is more full body like he's accepted joy into his life like never before. I had to hold back tears when I noticed all of the similarities and differences I found.

I felt the disconnect from the present, and a simultaneous hyper awareness of all the lives I lived in his absence. This feeling rushed through my veins, like the caffeine from a double shot of espresso or the head rush that follows a sober cigarette. He says “You look the same, but your energy is more you; calmer.” I told him about my life the past 4 years and although I experienced traveling and life in many ways; the common pattern is my habit of getting in and out of relationships. My heart has broken about 5 times since the end of our relationship, in the past 7 years. The men I’ve dated become no more than a stranger to me after a year. How devoted I am to loving even though I was rarely loved back in the same capacity is confusing to him.

“Do you believe you deserve love?” He asked me.

“Are you afraid of being alone?”

I lingered on that thought. Embarrassed. When was the last time I was single? Alone with nowhere to put my love other than myself and my world? I had just moved into my first apartment with my current boyfriend. He's gentle, treats me well and loves me so much. The healthiest relationship I’ve ever experienced in my adulthood. But I can’t help but think we've only been dating for 6 months and not even a month before I met him I was in Greece with a completely different lover. I didn’t choose the city we moved to, he did and I was okay with it. I didn’t plan anything about Greece, he did but I was okay with it. These men that court me plan futures with me in their heads and I fear I just simply play the part... Do I allow myself any say in these futures? Or am I just okay with it? Is the concept of falling and staying in love more important to me than my own journey to find myself? Healing myself? The spiritual path I have always been drawn to but always ignored because the people I allowed myself to love never took that part of me seriously, never mind joining me on the same path.

[trashbag-baby666]

Christmas, Sweetness, N’ Things - Randlemartin

Part One:

It was Bull and Johnny's first Christmas together after moving into their new farm house. Bull was eager to get the cows and goats, but now they had to tackle assembling furniture and unpacking.

So that's how they were going to spend this christmas. They had the christmas tree set up and the couch and that was it.

Johnny and Bull stood in the big living room each holding a cup of coffee, "Well Merry Christmas Bull where do we wanna start?" Johnny sipped his coffee.

"Let's start down here? Assemble the ikea table and chairs?" Bull suggested nodding over to the boxes.

"Sure," Johnny nodded. Johnny had never been so glad he's married to a shit kicker hick. Johnny had grown up in a small house in the suburbs of Philly where Bull had grown up in a rural one mile town on a farm.

Bull had all the building skills they both could need.

Johnny and Bull spent the next hour as Bull put together the table and Johnny sat on the floor trying to read the wordless instruction manual.

"Johnny hand me the phillips screwdriver," Bull reached his hand back.

"We have a stanley screwdriver, is that okay?" Johnny held up the screwdriver.

Bull turned his head slowly with his mouth straight and his eyebrows furrowed and sat back on his knees.

"Johnny..." Bull ran a hand over his face, "Phillips is the shape of the screwdriver."

Johnny's lips pursed and he couldn't hold in his laughter, "And how am I supposed to know that?"

Bull smiled and keeled over laughing, "I'm so glad I married you Johnny."

"Well here's your manly screwdriver," Johnny handed Bull the screwdriver. Bull leaned over and kissed Johnny's cheek.

After a long extensive day of building and unpacking they were carrying the mattress up the big staircase. They lovingly yelled at each other as they were both tired.

Finally, they had the new mattress laid down on the new bedframe. They made the bed together and laid down.

"Wooo," Johnny sighed and turned onto his side to look at Bull.

"Well wasn't that fun?"Bull smiled, pushing Johnny's loose curls from his face.

"It was my favorite Christmas with you," Johnny scooted closer to Bull.

"Same," Bull held Johnny's hand.

"At least we didn't have to go to Mary's," Johnny snickered and ran his free hand up Bulls muscly arms.

"Hey!" Bull giggled at Johnny's dig at Bull's ridiculous mother. Yes, Bull loved her but she was very much homophobic and had a strong opinion on Johnny.

"Lord have mercy on her," Johnny cuddled into Bull.

"I love you," Bull sighed and kissed Johnny's knuckles.

"I love you too," Johnny blushed.

Part Two:

The next Christmas they had a nine month old, Denny. Denny had thick dark brown curls like Johnny and blue eyes like Bulls.

They spent their Christmas morning pulling hay and milking cows. Denny in a chest baby carrier on Johnny.

Denny liked the animals a lot. Bull was helping one of the cows deliver an unexpected calf as Johnny made sure the cows got through the milking machines.

"Moo," Denny pointed to the cow as Johnny led the cow into the milking area and got her hooked to the machine.

"Yeah you like the cows Denny? You're just like your father." Johnny smiled.

"Mhmphs!" Denny giggled. Johnny smiled as Bull came back.

"How is it? Is the calf okay?" Johnny asked.

"She's alive I'm gonna get some fresh hay for her and her mom but after you get this girl milked and you got feed in the troughs you guys can go outside thanks for helping." Bull kissed Johnny's cheek and then ruffled Denny's hair.

"Okay," Johnny nodded, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"I'm good with anything," Bull nodded and walked back to the other barn.

Johnny had Denny in his high chair as Johnny sang along to the Disney's greatest hits as he cooked up pancakes and sausage.

Bull came in the front door and yawned, "How're ya feelin'?" Johnny called to Bull as Bull stripped from his layers. Bull sat down and kicked off his rubber boots, he got up and walked to the kitchen.

"Da!" Denny pointed at the tall blonde man.

"Yeah Dad came to join us," Johnny smiled. Bull pulled a chair up next to Denny's high chair, "Here."

Johnny handed a fresh cup of black coffee to Bull as he flipped a pancake at the same time.

"Thank you," Bull took a long drink from the coffee.

"Denny was raving about how much he likes the moo's. Right Denny?" Johnny plated up the pancakes and breakfast meat onto two plates and brought them to the table.

"Moos!" Denny clapped.

"The cows are pretty cool aren't they Denny?" Bull looked over at his son.

"I totally think we should just relax and watch holiday movies and specials after this." Johnny cut up a small pancake and put it on Dennys tray.

"I totally agree," Bull smirked.

Part Three:

"Johnny," Bull rubbed his forehead. Bull had just gotten back from picking up groceries. Johnny was setting up Johnny's beloved Christmas village they literally had no room for.

"Daddy!" Denny ran at Bull, "Look! Look!"

"See even Denny likes it." Johnny smirked crossing his arms and looking up at the love of his life.

Bull was very anti Christmas village because of the amount of space it took up.

Johnny would set it up and expand every year. Plus now that Denny was a fan of the Christmas village it had to stay.

"You're lucky I love you enough to let you keep the damned Christmas village." Bull pulled Johnny into him and kissed his cheek.

Part Four:

Denny was now four and had years of observing his mom and dad kiss. The way Bull would wrap a hand around the back of Johnnys neck and Johnny would rest his hands on Bulls muscular arms.

Denny felt defiant on Christmas Eve and decided he was gonna try and peak and see Santa.

Little did he know Johnny and Bull were parents who knew everything.

Bull dragged out the infamous Randleman Santa suit for this.

So that night about an hour after they laid Denny down to go to bed he crept out of his room and to the top of the stair case.

Denny climbed down the stairs about halfway and silently gasped when he saw his mommy kissing Santa. But it was the same way daddy kissed mommy.

Denny ran up the stairs and got back in bed.

When Bull and Johnny heard the door close they erupted into pure laughter of love.

[steveskafte]

THE LAST GOOD ONE If you write about old places as often as I do, then you'll draw a lot of older readers. As someone who spent their childhood interacting with the elderly more than anyone my own age, I think that's wonderful. My neighbours, the widows and widowers, my grandparents – they were all closer to me than my peers. The last of my elderly friends died two years ago this month, two men I met when I owned an art gallery. They lived good, long lives into their 80s. Armón Lewis was a fisherman and Denny Lunn was in the Air Force. They had wives and kids, and spent their retirements making art. To me, they were everything wonderful, hopeful, and positive that can be said about old age. Aiming above all else to be understanding, good storytellers, and to see the upsides of youth. They thought no better of their time than mine. So I say this with the utmost respect – too many of the older folks I've known are deeply unpleasant. In saying this, I know that it sounds like an insult. But it truly isn't meant to be. There are very good reasons why we become cynical and disconnected with time, how we slowly accept unhappiness as something inescapable, and almost comfortable to inhabit. If you live long enough, you'll face a lot of loss. The death of loved ones is the ultimate trauma. Denny Lunn outlived his wife by many years, and finding a way to be happy again wasn't easy for him. He had a true and present joy by the time we met, so I never witnessed that journey until he told me about it. It's the telling that really connects us. All we have are stories. Many older folks will lament that no one comes to see them, how they feel isolated and lonely so much of the time. But I believe that we're responsible, at any age, for forging and breaking our own social connections. We create our loneliness in slow surrender, not putting in the work for mutual understanding. Railing against youth is a cliché that most of us take on at adulthood. Running unchecked, it eventually festers into a fully-formed belief that our generation was the last good one. How likely is it, that in all of human history, the quality of humanity fell off just after us? If we express this belief to all we encounter, why would any young person waste their time on us? For the pleasure of being tagged as "one of the good ones"? Kids these days won't find that enough, and I see no reason why they should. I've always felt old, though I'm really not yet. I suppose that's the influence of my elderly friends rubbing off on me, and the ongoing ache of having lost so many of them. The greatest lesson they taught me is that kindness and positivity don't lose value with age. You don't get a free pass for aches and pains, though it's well understood that you suffer more than most. You're still expected to love with all your heart, keep up with the shifts in society, and to work toward a positive future – even if you won't live to see it. The past is never coming back. Nostalgia won't do it, railing against the present certainly won't, and time is a machine that will never be reverse-engineered on your behalf. You can either die happy, or die sad, and the living will only love you if you manage the first. January 5, 2024 West Dalhousie, Nova Scotia Year 17, Day 5899 of my daily journal.