Real Life Love

“This is an amazing opportunity. Why aren’t you taking it?”
“Because it means I can’t be with you, and you are the most important thing in my life. Besides I can compose anywhere.”
“Yes, but this opportunity isn’t anywhere, it’s in LA.”
“It means that I have to be away from you for two or more years, so I am not going to take it.”
“Your music has really taken off here, but it’s time to move onto the next step. You’re not going to get anywhere in the Bay Area.”
“Look: you are all I need, I don’t need this program. So let’s just leave it.”

I shook my head, but bit my tongue. I love this man, but sometimes I hate the fact that all he needs is me. He got up from the couch, crossed the room to where I was standing, kissed my forehead softly, and then moved to the piano to figure out the last couple of measures to his new song. He is unbelievably talented, but will never allow himself to admit it. I stood frozen with anger for a couple of minutes, but left the room before he could turn his attention to me to make me feel better. These are how our fights go; it’s always me pushing him to take some opportunity, getting mad after he makes some connection to losing me, and then he tries to make me feel better about him not having the same occupational motivation as me.

The laptop turned on slowly, old and full of viruses, but I don’t care. I just needed to go on it for a little bit, just to print out directions from my apartment in Palo Alto to the dorms on the Prince Edward Islands. This plan has been boiling in me for months, and now I am using it; I know I will be regretting it immediately, but it’s what is best. Just as the printer spat out the last page the piano lid slammed shut in annoyance-finishing a piece is always the hardest part. The frustrated composer stomped into the bedroom, stripped to his boxers, then curled up between the sheets. I hid the directions, and grabbed a glass of water and sleeping pills for him; when I entered the bedroom he looked up and took the pills without a word. I stripped to my underwear and curled up next to him, an hour and a half later his was sleeping deeply.

I crept out of the bed and grabbed the pre-packed winter clothes, school supplies, basic living supplies, stored up money, and electronics, then left a small written note on the pillow, “I love you, now go to LA. I’ll write once I get where I am going.” I grabbed my acceptance letter and transfer letter then walked out the door and locked it behind me for the last time.

Tears silently flowed down my cheeks the entire four day drive to the Islands.

The letters were frequent at first, but then slowly and surely dwindled to nothing. The last I heard he hated me for my actions but knew what I was trying to achieve. I ended every letter with, “I still love you” and he would begrudgingly admit that he still did too. When he stopped writing back I found myself searching his name on google every week, seeing what pieces he was creating and if his career was taking off. It was, and that brought me joy. I continued to work hard in vet school, at the stable where I boarded my horse, and on my riding. Though the hardest part of my life was having to come home to an empty apartment every day, expecting to see him. That is how it was for three years.

One day two of my peers and coworkers invited me to go to a bar with them, they had to work hard on persuading me, but eventually I caved. They took me to a new hot 40s themed bar, after forcing me into a little black dress with the appropriate hair and makeup. The three of us turned heads as we walked in, and my two friends confidently strutted to a table so men could start buying them drinks. I listlessly followed behind them, eyes glazed over and generally sad. Luckily this deterred men from hitting on me. After an hour and a half both of my peers had said good bye to me as they hung off of the arm of their next one night stand. I moved to a corner of the bar, where it was easy to fade into the dark walls and wait until I had enough energy to go back home.

“This is from the ‘tall fluffy one’.” Said the bar tender, placing a mug of hot tea in front of me. I looked at him with the utmost confusion. It all made sense once the piano started playing a familiar tune and a rich bass started to sing “Piano Man”. I held my breath and felt the biggest urge to leave the bar immediately, and yet, I stayed. The song ended, the bar clapped, and the 40s music played over the speakers. I stared at my tea, with my heart hammering so hard that I was convinced that it could be heard. The open stool next to me became occupied by my well-dressed composer. He sat there silently, waiting for me to raise my head, and look at him. When I did I could tell it was a struggle for him not to smile largely at me.

“I’m sorry.” I said softly, just loud enough for him to hear.
“You should be.”
“I was just trying to help you.”
“You did. And you hurt me.”
“But I hear your doing well.”
“In one way.” He said this softly, as if he was reliving the morning that he woke up without me.

We sat in silence for a little, both of us hurting. Eventually the talking started up again, we told the other how we were doing. The talking stopped. We told of what little love life we had in the past three years. The talking stopped. He told me he was here to get inspiration, I invited him to my apartment for hot chocolate since he doesn’t drink coffee, and then we walked out of the bar.

We sat on the couch. We told the other words that we have been wanting to say for years, but couldn’t do over a letter. By the end we were holding each other tightly in our arms, and at the end of that we retreated into the bedroom.


I blinked in the weak morning light, wondering why my bed had turned from brown to green. Then I saw the red lock of her hair. She was turned on her side facing me, illuminated by the grey light, hair a tamed fire and skin white with heat. The corner of her pale mouth was upturned into a blissful smile, which is what made this demon turn into an angel. I watched her chest and sides move up and down slowly with her soft breathing, and her hands twitch with whatever action she was doing in her reams. I felt myself fall in love again. Then, I noticed the growing bags under her eyes, knowing her sleep had been tossed out of the window to allow more time for studying. With this came inspiration. I placed my hand on her hip and started to play the piano, I would a make a lullaby so soothing that even she could fall asleep to it.

Slowly she opened her eyes and looked into mine. “Good morning my little sun.” I whispered softly to her and she smiled in acknowledgement. I leaned over and softly kissed her forehead and cheek, she let out a noise showing that she enjoyed the affection, but was still unable to speak. “Do you need more sleep?” She nodded and rolled onto her other side, revealing some of her taught back. I nestled next to her, draping my arm over her side, she took it and held it close to her chest, then almost immediately fell into sleep again.

My muse held me close to her heart. And I gave her mine.