When we arrived, he pointed out the first big change as I started to kiss him in the car. He stopped and led me inside.

His house is beautiful and now fully furnished. He showed me around quickly, with our kissing room by room.

When we reached the bedroom, we went straight to bed, each shrugging off out clothes and crawling under the covers. We kissed passionately, but we knew we were not going to have sex. We had discussed it, with him saying he really just wanted to sleep next to me, which was absolutely the right thing. We kissed and fooled around very little, he described it this morning as “a few seconds” which is not inaccurate. We were just kissing, wrapped around each other, delighting in the feel of our bodies pressed together. At one point, he leaned back and I smacked him in the face, saying, never again should we spend “eight” months apart. It was so wonderfully intimate to be that close to him, closer than I’ve ever physically been. After a very few minutes, he got up saying, we should stop, as “I have some things to say to you …” adding upbeatly “It’s good!” and walked to his side of the bed.

He laid back down and pulled me to his chest in the dark.

What he told me reaffirmed everything I already knew, but deepened his pain a bit. He told me how terribly lonely he has been. How awful everything is, how very unavailable he is, how damaged, how scared, and how he could not date me under those circumstances. I teased him about our first date, when he tried to scare me and he tried to get me to shut up (“I kept thinking I wish she would stop talking!”) and how I felt that I want to create and destroy him every minute of every day for the rest of my life. We knew then, we have always known that we share a connection that is deeper than sex, deeper than friendship, deeper than we are fully comfortable.

He started the conversation by saying as he snuggled into me “you may know what I am about to say as if you have esp or something.” The “or something” is that I know him — not the details but the reality of how he thinks and what he does. I know him, as he knows me. The real me that I love to conceal behind a veneer of arrogance and confidence and vanity.

He loves that when he tells me “you are so hot/beautiful/whatever” I always respond “I know.” What I told him tonight is that I feel more beautiful because I am beautiful to him. And I do. I feel sexier because of him. He loved to hear that and it surprised him a bit. (When he said it to me in the car this morning and I said thank you, he was disappointed that I did not answer “I know.” I quickly corrected myself.)

I teared up a little describing how it felt to be without him, how careful I was to never ever tell him how much I missed him as that was about me and not about him, but now, with tears in my eyes and my head on his shoulder, I told him “I missed you.” He told me he missed me too. He heard the tears in my voice and he caressed my face gently in the dark.

We kissed a little bit and talked a lot more and he told me that when he called me he’d been so lonely and so depressed and very self-loathing and he opened up his bberry and looked at my photos and had to be with me. (He deepened that moment more the next morning referring to his emotion as near-suicidal. When I looked at him in horror and concern, he walked it back to deeply depressed, but…)

I reminded him that what I say to him, how I touch him, how I react to him is all to convey the message that he’s never really alone, that I am there for him, for no other reason than to be there for him. He thanked me. He knows, I think, what I was trying to say to him.

He told me how much he needed me there, beside him, how he looked forward to me being there as much as I want to be there.

He asked me to roll over, and he curled himself around me. He held my hand and pulled me to him and he quickly nodded off. I . . . did not. Again, I could not sleep. I had to go to the bathroom, so I eventually made my way out and hoped I would not awaken him, and then down the hall to my purse, where I took a couple of pills which I found with the help of my phone. Then I texted T to tell her where I was, knowing when she saw it in the morning she’d squeal with glee. She knows how much I adore LP, what he means to me, and how bereft I’ve been in his absence.

Gradually, I fell asleep, tossing and turning a bit, as LP proved he has not been sharing a bed with other people, lying diagonally. I slept fitfully, with the weight of everything resting a bit uncomfortably upon me. This whole situation is potentially life-changing for me. Being with him would never be easy, but I love me with him and him with me.

He snored and shifted position and was a terrible bedmate. He was softer than I’d remembered, softer than he’d been. I was able to spend quite a bit of time looking at him as he slept and I did not. I did a lot of thinking, stressed a bit, but enjoyed being in the place I’d hoped to return since last November. November … wow.