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Ginger · 07-10-2012, 03:49 PM

I am always learning and forgetting, what I can tolerate and what I can't.

I am thinking of one ex that I loved very much, but realize I couldn't have stayed with. (Of course, it isn't someone on this site, and she probably doesn't even know it exists.)

This particular lover, "C," kept a rifle in the cabin where we stayed upstate on weekends, while her house was being built in the woods. The cabin was next to a pond, and we lit candles at night and played dominoes and talked, and the frogs were so loud by the end of the summer, we could barely hear each other.

We slept on a mattress on the floor, and the rifle stayed in the crevice between the head of the bed, and the cabin wall. Sometimes I would wake with my head butting into it.

Even if someone dangerous had appeared at the door to our cabin in the middle of the night, she wouldn’t have been able to use the rifle—she was impossible to wake once she’d taken her “nightie-nights,” a handful of prescription sleeping pills and anti-anxiety meds for PTSD; she feared her brother—who had abused her for years—was going to find her and kill her, hence the gun.

We took a lot of walks in the woods, and she set up tripods to photograph trees, and then began a series on mushrooms, because I loved them so much. We turned rotting logs over, and found ruby salamanders writhing in the damp ground. She’s the only person I’ve known who loved watching insects as much as I do. She could make dozens of bird songs, and collected abandoned nests, and noticed rocks, filling her bathroom sink in the City with them, water running over them to the drain, which made me a little nervous when I brushed my teeth, though I did love the rocks.

C had alpaca blankets she kept in the cabin, and we would wrap ourselves and sit on the front steps and watch the moon and the pond. We kept going up there, even when we could see our breath, and the leaves were turning orange.

I tried to talk to her about her brother, and whether it really was possible that he would look for her and kill her. Her fear made me afraid. When we broke up, I felt guilty at how relieved I was to have him, even the idea of him, out of my life. And I was glad not to wake with that gun near my head.

But I miss her.

07-10-2012, 03:49 PM	#59
Ginger Senior Member How Do You Identify?: Femme lesbian Join Date: Mar 2012 Location: East coast Posts: 2,416 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 5,829 Thanked 12,295 Times in 2,057 Posts Rep Power: 21474852	I am always learning and forgetting, what I can tolerate and what I can't. I am thinking of one ex that I loved very much, but realize I couldn't have stayed with. (Of course, it isn't someone on this site, and she probably doesn't even know it exists.) This particular lover, "C," kept a rifle in the cabin where we stayed upstate on weekends, while her house was being built in the woods. The cabin was next to a pond, and we lit candles at night and played dominoes and talked, and the frogs were so loud by the end of the summer, we could barely hear each other. We slept on a mattress on the floor, and the rifle stayed in the crevice between the head of the bed, and the cabin wall. Sometimes I would wake with my head butting into it. Even if someone dangerous had appeared at the door to our cabin in the middle of the night, she wouldn’t have been able to use the rifle—she was impossible to wake once she’d taken her “nightie-nights,” a handful of prescription sleeping pills and anti-anxiety meds for PTSD; she feared her brother—who had abused her for years—was going to find her and kill her, hence the gun. We took a lot of walks in the woods, and she set up tripods to photograph trees, and then began a series on mushrooms, because I loved them so much. We turned rotting logs over, and found ruby salamanders writhing in the damp ground. She’s the only person I’ve known who loved watching insects as much as I do. She could make dozens of bird songs, and collected abandoned nests, and noticed rocks, filling her bathroom sink in the City with them, water running over them to the drain, which made me a little nervous when I brushed my teeth, though I did love the rocks. C had alpaca blankets she kept in the cabin, and we would wrap ourselves and sit on the front steps and watch the moon and the pond. We kept going up there, even when we could see our breath, and the leaves were turning orange. I tried to talk to her about her brother, and whether it really was possible that he would look for her and kill her. Her fear made me afraid. When we broke up, I felt guilty at how relieved I was to have him, even the idea of him, out of my life. And I was glad not to wake with that gun near my head. But I miss her.