The lack of passion

 

I decided to call it that because I now discuss the relationship status regarding this very word: passion. I’ve always thought that when there was love, passion would be a part of that almost as natural as the sunlight at dawn. It’d get brighter by the minute – how little did I know.

The idea of love is somewhat different for everybody considering the variety of backgrounds we all have. In my case, the background was obscure and violent – emotionally and physically. Betrayal after betrayal. No romance. No love. No sex. My father used to have many affairs – word has it my mother knew about some. Watching it during my childhood molded the idea. Relationships are doomed from the start: you can never trust anybody.

My mother would sit on the couch arm with her legs crossed and wait for my father to return home. Night after night. He would eventually come – later by the days. And she would accept him back with what she thought was open arms – but closed legs. She knew he was probably late because he didn’t come directly home. She’d love him anyway, make him breakfast in the morning, cook him dinner. And I used to see that – the devotion. Is devotion a selfless kind of love, or the very opposite? When you accept it all in the name of not being alone? Acceptance?

It had molded my mind. My heart was as pure as my mother’s. And it still is. I’m devoted. I love with all my heart. I try my best. But I’m not the best, I’m far from it.

I had always thought that the passion and fire would be intrinsically intertwined in the love spine. One could not exist without the other. Then it struck me the other day that it can: love without passion is not a romantic love, necessarily. It’s more of a partnership.

I thank the life’s lessons for having taught me how to escape the full-acceptance state of mind in romantic relationships. When I say full-acceptance is because nowadays my acceptance is partial.

I was adored in the beginning of this love story. I was called beautiful names such as “king”. I would be called “huge” personality-wise. I would be called handsome and hot every other day. I would have my hand touched unexpectedly during movies, uber rides, walk-abouts. I would be hugged ten times a day. I would be kissed countless times a day. I would be asked questions about my day, about how I feel, about how I am. It all stopped when the “love that was one sky” became just a faded horizon.

My body does not know your touch anymore. My lips don’t know yours anymore. My day don’t coexist with yours through our so-called-beautiful connection. We know together we are stronger – although I don’t know where you are at in the stairs of love. I may be going upstairs and you downstairs towards the stair of partnership and friendship – no romance required.

The pretty names, the compliments, the hotness and the passion electricity are all aimed at strangers. They now have the beauty of a god. They now have the body of passion. They now have the conversations of sincerity we used to have between us. They see your dick and I don’t. How’s that?

I quoted a line from the Real Housewives of Potomac where Ashley is talking to her husband during an argument: “I know we love each other. I know you love me, but are you in love with me?” Michael’s answer was ready: yes I am. Of course. Your answer was a very long hesitation in silence. You needed time to understand the concept of passion. I interrupted you “that’s the answer”.

“I love your company, I love making things to please you, I make plans with you – isn’t that passion?” I said “no, that’s love”. “What’s passion then?” “Think about what’s missing in your answer and you’ll know what passion is”.

It all hit differently this time. I’ve been writing pages and pages about how you haven’t touched me nor desired me for months. Maybe this whole year. Maybe since we moved in together. You not knowing what being in love means after months being closed-up directing your sex energy to strangers says it all. It’s the very lack of passion.