Fallen

For the first time in a really long time, I’m back to widow white gown shopping and reading proposal stories online and daydreaming about my future and
It
Feels
So
Good.

The best part? He told me he loved me before I even had a chance to worry about the possibility that he didn’t, that he hasn’t. Sometimes what looks beautiful is really quite horrid. This is not one of those times.

2 days, 15 hours 41 minutes.
But who’s counting?

Fairy Tale Beginning

There is something sweet about late night kisses that go on and on into oblivion, your fingers making circles on my back until I’m purring in your arms. I remember these nights, I thought I had lost them blocked them forever but it’s not true. I remember them but now I see clearly what I couldn’t see then. It wasn’t a game, was it? The night you ended things and then asked me to hold you. When you told me even before then to wait and see. When you said you were obligated to do it in person, but that you were going to do it.  It was real but I was already too far gone to understand.

And if we had? If I had jumped then, when I was so full of unrest and darkness.  Could I ever have fought my way out the other side? Would I be the woman I am now? No, probably not. But I know now that you were always honest with me. That you cared for me, even as I fell in love with you I think just maybe you were falling in love with me too.

Butterflies, you said I gave you butterflies. Well babe I suppose it goes both ways, because I knew the moment I got your message that I was a goner. That’s why my phone buzzed in the cafe, exactly 25 minutes into our coffee catchup, my best friend ready to fake whatever emergency I needed. That’s why my fingers were tracing the bottleneck of my mango peach juice, imagining the cold glass to be your warm lips.  That’s why, when I finally made my way back to the office, I left you at the back porch and sprinted inside-grateful to find the dressing room unoccupied so that I could slump with my back against the door and sink ever so slowly to the floor in a puddle of long dormant longing.

The pitch of the roof in my room is just the same as yours was all those years ago. Do you remember leaving your window open all winter? That night when we watched bad zombie movies and I snuggled so deeply into you trying to capture your inner warmth. Or the time you brought out oils and smoothed my skin with your tender hands, expecting nothing in return and working the nervous energy out of my skin.

You taught me these kisses, and then when I turned up on your doorstep all these years later you kissed me again before I had time to think or be nervous or god forbid run. Right there in the car, making me squirm until I had to remind myself that I hadn’t taken the car out of drive and I needed to keep my foot firmly on the break.

I’m ready to fall back into flannel nights and the same running jokes we’ve had through years and all of our diverse relationships. I’m ready to believe now what you tried to tell me all those years ago. I don’t know what made me different from the others, or what made you stand out to me (that’s a lie, it was your sparkling eyes and your quick grin and your kind ear) but I know that somehow we are the only ones who matter. The mind-blowing sex doesn’t hurt, either.

Love. My love.

I used to imagine what I would do on the day that I heard you were married. Now you’ve  told me that not even me saying “I do” with someone else would have stopped you from trying. I’m glad. I’ve begged you for years, in my dreams and on these digital pages, to tell me that you wanted something more. I should have just asked you, as you said we could have been together for the last 10 years.

But again, I wouldn’t have been all of me. And I want to be all of me. For myself first, but also for you. So I’m glad. I learned so much, and when I meet your parents again- this time as your partner, I’ll know where I stand. Where we stand.

I can’t wait for our adventures. Everyone else is settled in the story they’ve written for themselves, and ours is just beginning.

Once upon a time...

Fame

I could never be a celebrity, this weekend has been living proof. Defending myself, and Chris (too much like a brother to be comfortable with this many women drooling over him) from the throng is something I hope I never have to do again. But. We did it. And the foremost Jane scholars in the world loved it. And the only things they didn't love are the things that we fought against for the last three years.

And so now, on to the future. Three more turns about the room with Catherine, three more nights falling for Mr. Tilney until I get to see my Wickham.

Goodnight Tilney,
Goodnight Woodston,
Goodnight murdered mother in law,
Goodnight cads,
Goodnight hyacinths,
Goodnight horrid mysteries
Goodnight Miss Morland.
I’m glad you came off the shelf.

Hyacinths

It’s funny how a little sleep can change perspective. And a tech run. And people knowing their god damn lines (myself included.)

I get to be the best and worst parts of Catherine. I can run from a room, “you must despise me forever” without a smidge or irony. I can feel a sort of triumphant delight. I can tell John Thorpe to go jump in the Thames and poor Isabella that she must be stupid to think me such a fool. I can fall in love after one dance without even learning his name.

And tomorrow, I get to live it all out in front of a sold out house  (with a 200 person waiting list!) They hyacinths, the picnic, the ball and the horrid mysteries. I’m so grateful for this. I’m glad to have my £3,000 pounds, though it took me longer than a *true* heroine to get there. And hey, my sister in law is a viscountess, so there’s that.

Cheers to opening, and remember that when in doubt, I can have my cake and marry Tilney too.

Valencourt

It’s closing in on one am, tomorrow I have a three hour marathon of a show and yet my brain still won’t shut off. All of the things I have left to stitch- a gown, a bonnet- if he was here I could ask him to pin up my hem, the lines I should run- I can’t forget how I reacted during the proposal because Amy said it was perfect; it was perfect because I was thinking about him but could I do that if he was in the audience? Should I ask Amy about the kiss or leave it be? Tim never really told me how he felt about it but then I never pressed him. It’s my job, my life’s work- can I give it up so easily? If I could get a job- a good one in pa that’s a step up, I could come back here better, stronger. Not until next year though. And then what if there isn’t one? Do I leave because I said I would? Battle the inevitable depression that circles whenever I’m not at work? Or do I stay and risk losing him? If I leave this, will I become a disappointment to my father? He only just said he’s proud of me. I don’t want to lose that pride.

The show, the show. I need to run the scenes with Isabella. I need to remember to walk more slowly during Valencourt. But it’s so strange hearing someone sing my name- Emily- not Catherine, it unnerves me. Do I sport with my Valencourt? “Catherine, he won’t ever love you.” But could he love Emily? Tim, not Henry. Tim. My Wickham. My Tilney? I hope so, god I hope so.

What shall I do if my stage brother tries to kiss me? I’m genuinely concerned. I shouldn’t have mentioned that Dave and I broke up. And sure, we flirted last spring but it was harmlessly safe- both of us I’m unhappy relationships but unable to act. I could never actually love him, it was a lark. Not like Tim.

I cannot become co-dependent. I need my own identity.   Who am I, really? I’m not Catherine anymore. I’m not 19. I’m proud of what I’ve done, what I’ve accomplished. I shouldn’t have hinted to Dave today, it wasn’t professionally unwise but damn it he was such a condescending ass- I wanted him to know that I’m successful without him. I don’t need or want his “professional assistance” because I’m actually better at this than he is:

Will Ken lose his faith in my if I leave? Will Nicole? Jack and Jacque will kill me, I know. But ohmygod the look ok the ex’s faces will be p r i c e l e s s. Remember when I said I was over him? I was letting him go because it was the noble, the right thing to do. Yeah, I lied.

What would Dolly do? She married a man twice her age, and they lived happily ever after. Except for the war. And her step-sons ptsd. And Jefferson. Fuck Jefferson. But not Kurt, he’s a sweetie and I hope I don’t lose him or Michelle if I go. WHEN I go. I think I’ve decided.

Shit, I’m really going to do this. This job is all I’ve ever wanted in my whole life. I’ve rocketed to the top of this field and I know leaving will change that. I’ll return and I’ll have aged out of roles. Maybe I’ll be a mother. People will have found another best and brightest. But I think it will be worth it, for the life we could build together.

Together, because I will not be dependent. I will keep my own identity.  What would Jane do?

She didn’t get married, but she wrote endless stories of women in love. Women who give all of themselves. Women who tell men to fuck right off. Women who change every part of themselves when they see a nice house and realize they have been in love the whole time.

What would you do Jane? And Dolly? Amo? Minna?

Germaine understands, I know. She left her whole world behind for a soldier, and she sometimes regretted it. Was it worth it to marry a mechanic from New Jersey? Do you miss France grandmother?

I miss him.
I love him.
Duh.

It must have been very wrong to have dreamt of him before he dreamt of me- but I did. I kept dreaming of him. I’ll never stop.

I must remember my blanket. My dressing robe. My bonnet. My corset. My book.

Everything a lady needs really, to fall in love.

Catherine, what would you do? Tell me what to do, please. How does my novel end? Am I a heroine after all?

Surprises discovered

I tried you know. I went boldly out into the world, I dated other people and tried on different versions of myself. I loved, fought, lost. I went years without speaking to you.
And yet.
You’re it. Done. The end.
Love is a beautiful place to be, and I’m
In
It.

Heartache

The problem is that I love you.
I can tell myself over and over again that I’m being deliberate, careful, that I’m letting myself have the time that I need to be with myself. I can tell myself that I have learned to let go and allow life to happen, the chips will fall where they will. But then, two words and I’m panicked at the thought of losing you- I’m planning to give up my whole life, my whole dream just for the chance to be yours. And I don’t care if it’s logical or sensible because it’s the only thing that my heart wants.
I’m afraid of losing myself but I’m more afraid of losing you. I can physically  feel a pain in my chest, sometimes it’s a dull ache but then unexpectedly it intensified into an acute pricking, pulsing whenever I’m doubting or fearful or unsure.
Do you mean it, really? Can I trust that this is real, that it’s not another in a long line of dreams born of longing? What if tomorrow you decide it’s not worth it, I’m not worth it. What if it’s a joke, a trick. Why should I deserve your love now, after all these years.

Some days I celebrate modern technology, the ability for instant gratification. The way my face lights up when I see your messages.

Some days I hate it, because it’s up to me to keep myself from going crazy. From sending missive after missive, begging for validation.

And that’s why I’m waiting, hoping and praying that these moments will pass and I’ll grow stronger in my convictions and belief in the truth of myself, of you, of us. That I’ll be able to put this anxiety behind me, that it won’t ruin something so good and so beautiful. That we could have a future.

That there is a future.