to hear his voice on his message, “This is Jack. Leave a message.” But I never did leave a message. He had to know I was calling.
Editing the photos consumed my mind. Every one brought back sweet memories. I had gotten random shots of Jack, and the wonder of what we were sharing returned. Would he read it if I emailed him? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I had no idea where he was. I just wanted so much to touch him in some way. Maybe he’d see them.
When I woke the next morning after a fitful night, the snow had stopped, but no one was going to be getting out today. I was conscious enough to appreciate the scenery, but my pain was shutting out any other thoughts. How I wished that Jack and I could be snowed in together.
One of the things I love most about Colorado is how fast the weather changes. An afternoon and night of snow had ended, and the sun was shining in a crisp, clear sky. It was breathtaking. The landscape appeared to have been dusted with white diamonds in the night. Although I wasn’t foolish enough to venture out yet, I opened two panels of glass doors that opened from the kitchen, grabbed the shovel from the coat closet, and set about making a trail for myself on the deck. The air was still. It couldn’t have been more perfect.
Pulling on a sweater and retrieving the camera from my office, I wanted a diversion. For a few minutes it worked, but everywhere I looked I saw Jack. Even the blinding beauty of my surroundings couldn’t bring me solace for long. He had to have been hurting to have left like this, didn’t he? I wanted to be sympathetic, but at that point I didn’t care. It was all-consuming, and I felt like I had been thrown into the middle of a vortex. Had I been SO off base to have trusted him?
I needed something to do to take my mind off of things. I edited pictures, I wrote letters to clients I hadn’t had contact with for a while, I cleaned an already spotless house, I prepped food for the coming week. I called Sam to make sure he was okay. He let me know, without my having to ask, that Jack was still ‘gone to ground.’ I went hours without thinking of him – but the only consecutive ones were when I was asleep. The sleep was hard to come by, but a bucket of tears helped me to find it. When I did, it was a blessed relief.
I wanted to touch him somehow. I wanted to hear his voice and know where he was, if he was all right, if he was ever coming back. There was a sadness at whatever had caused this reaction in him, and an anger that he was doing this to me, to us.
Finally deciding to send him an email, I wanted him to know I was hurting:
Dear Jack.
I miss our words.
I miss your lips.
I miss the words from your lips
that make my body burn.
I miss your lips on mine.
I miss your lips on me.
I miss standing in your arms
and melting at your feet.
I miss the passion
that only your words can excite.
I miss your voice. It has become
the loudest thing in my head.
I miss the way you touch me
with just your words.
I miss how you ignite desire
as no one else can.
My body aches for you
I miss you
I miss us . . . passionately
After working for a while, I closed my computer and just sat there. Was I foolish to think he was coming back? Could he leave this behind? Was his distrust so great that this was the only way he could deal with it? While I knew that Clark was a big part of what was going on, was there a woman behind their animosity? How could I not take some of this personally? I was too alone with my thoughts.
Who was she and what had she done to him? Were we not building something that could overcome whatever heartache she had caused? Could he not even talk to me about it? Had she run off with Clark?
CHAPTER SIXTEE N
W hen I woke, I was exhausted. I couldn’t wait to hop in the shower and get my body going. I had to meet the Dunlap’s in Denver in just a few hours, and I was numb from the tears and the restless sleep.
On my way out of
Editing the photos consumed my mind. Every one brought back sweet memories. I had gotten random shots of Jack, and the wonder of what we were sharing returned. Would he read it if I emailed him? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I had no idea where he was. I just wanted so much to touch him in some way. Maybe he’d see them.
When I woke the next morning after a fitful night, the snow had stopped, but no one was going to be getting out today. I was conscious enough to appreciate the scenery, but my pain was shutting out any other thoughts. How I wished that Jack and I could be snowed in together.
One of the things I love most about Colorado is how fast the weather changes. An afternoon and night of snow had ended, and the sun was shining in a crisp, clear sky. It was breathtaking. The landscape appeared to have been dusted with white diamonds in the night. Although I wasn’t foolish enough to venture out yet, I opened two panels of glass doors that opened from the kitchen, grabbed the shovel from the coat closet, and set about making a trail for myself on the deck. The air was still. It couldn’t have been more perfect.
Pulling on a sweater and retrieving the camera from my office, I wanted a diversion. For a few minutes it worked, but everywhere I looked I saw Jack. Even the blinding beauty of my surroundings couldn’t bring me solace for long. He had to have been hurting to have left like this, didn’t he? I wanted to be sympathetic, but at that point I didn’t care. It was all-consuming, and I felt like I had been thrown into the middle of a vortex. Had I been SO off base to have trusted him?
I needed something to do to take my mind off of things. I edited pictures, I wrote letters to clients I hadn’t had contact with for a while, I cleaned an already spotless house, I prepped food for the coming week. I called Sam to make sure he was okay. He let me know, without my having to ask, that Jack was still ‘gone to ground.’ I went hours without thinking of him – but the only consecutive ones were when I was asleep. The sleep was hard to come by, but a bucket of tears helped me to find it. When I did, it was a blessed relief.
I wanted to touch him somehow. I wanted to hear his voice and know where he was, if he was all right, if he was ever coming back. There was a sadness at whatever had caused this reaction in him, and an anger that he was doing this to me, to us.
Finally deciding to send him an email, I wanted him to know I was hurting:
Dear Jack.
I miss our words.
I miss your lips.
I miss the words from your lips
that make my body burn.
I miss your lips on mine.
I miss your lips on me.
I miss standing in your arms
and melting at your feet.
I miss the passion
that only your words can excite.
I miss your voice. It has become
the loudest thing in my head.
I miss the way you touch me
with just your words.
I miss how you ignite desire
as no one else can.
My body aches for you
I miss you
I miss us . . . passionately
After working for a while, I closed my computer and just sat there. Was I foolish to think he was coming back? Could he leave this behind? Was his distrust so great that this was the only way he could deal with it? While I knew that Clark was a big part of what was going on, was there a woman behind their animosity? How could I not take some of this personally? I was too alone with my thoughts.
Who was she and what had she done to him? Were we not building something that could overcome whatever heartache she had caused? Could he not even talk to me about it? Had she run off with Clark?
CHAPTER SIXTEE N
W hen I woke, I was exhausted. I couldn’t wait to hop in the shower and get my body going. I had to meet the Dunlap’s in Denver in just a few hours, and I was numb from the tears and the restless sleep.
On my way out of
Similar Books
