I see him now.
But my love doesn’t mean that I want him, neither I need him.
My love means that I like and respect who he is and the role he plays in my life.
It means that I count the days to see him and to fuck him.
It means that in the hotels we spend our afternoons there is nobody else, no ghosts, no guilt, just us.
It might mean that maybe someday, hotel rooms won’t be enough.
But they are now.
It means that at night, I let my right hand get carried away between my legs, while I imagine being spanked by him, and I like it.
Because for me, love and pain can be friends.
And while he goes hard on me, he chokes me looking into my eyes and tells me; he loves me just as I do.
I am whole without him, and he is a whole without me, but we are quite something together.
H is back, and I am so glad.