If only it would rain

In the quiet of a conversation, a talk about nothing really, my roommate asks me if I know what he misses about being in a relationship. No, I say. He tells me he misses assumed weekends. You know, he says, when you know you're going to be with someone and you don't have to ask.

I cannot remember where we are or what we're doing as we banter casually. But I know I ache inside.

That ache is the definition of lonliness.

I am not alone very often. In fact, most of the time, I crave a little more solitude. A little more time to just be, by and with myself. I am moving between half a dozen social and business organziations, four, five, maybe six different sets of friends and an enormous undertaking in my career. There are more things I want to do than can find the time for. There are regrets. But they are voluntary - I simply cannot do it all.

Still I ache.

A powerful presence builds at the back of my throat. I can feel the sadness rising. My eyes are heavy and they sting.

I have lived my life with that ache. The ache that describes a void where no one assumes I am his for the weekend.

Then, for a few years, it was gone. I felt whole. Other aspects of my life were troubling, but I did not feel an outsider to the whole of humanity. The only person who ached.

So when I say I am still healing -- still getting over my loss -- it is because I ache. I cannot let someone else assume I am his for the weekend. Because if I did, he could take that away. And I doubt I could survive it again.

***

My business partner and close friend thinks I should date again. She tells me this as we are walking back from a business lunch. Lakewoodsingles.com, she says. I chuckle. She does not know how sad it makes me to know that I would simply be wasting time and money, hurting other people, and giving my bitterness ammunition.

Besides, I want to say... I'm not single. I'm rejected. There's a difference.

***

Last night I shared a bottle of wine with a friend. We laughed and smiled. We debated the politics of Middle Eastern diplomacy, the origins and beliefs of the Morman Church and the history of coal mining. Ours is not a physical love, but an intellectual one. It is stimulating and enduring. Each time we go our separate ways, we ask each other where our travels will take us next. Our insatiable drive to go places is one of our common interests. I will be in Oregon for five days. He is gone on assignment for three weeks. It might as well be the other side of the universe. We will not cross each other's thoughts for a long while. But we will come together again knowing that the mind, soul and spirit of the other is what we crave, that it has not changed with the passing of time and that when we are together the laughter will once again flow. Light will soften and bend. The connection will reestablish.

***

Last night contrasts starkly inside me with the memory of my roommate's innocent words. It should be the source of eternal hope. Instead, it is simply a reminder that love is not enough.