God, I Miss You

He is twenty four, but he doesn't write with those horrible text abbreviations so many twenty-somethings do.  His text messages frequently are so long that they span two or three messages, causing my phone to give a little alert ringtone sound twice or thrice.  Sometimes he writes purely factual things, giving times and dates and locations where he wishes me to appear.  Sometimes they are more in the nature of love notes.

The Handsome Actor makes my heart happy.  He also fills my phone with texts that I cannot bear to erase, and that is a bit of a problem, because I have to free up some room to receive new ones.  I am just so sentimental when it comes to things that he says to me.  I want to capture all of the words and hold them close to my heart.  He is very dear.

I have that late night one man show.  Come to that!

I think I've died in every play you've seen me in.

One evening, around midnight, I received this message:
Were you at the show tonight?

I replied:
Nope.  We are coming tomorrow.  Why?

His response came in seconds later:
Oh, I just wondered.  I heart you bigs, lady.

When revenues for the fundraising project he'd established began to slow down, he sent a series of  three cryptic messages.
The fire is smoldering.
The mouse has stopped eating the cheese.
The eagle has not landed.

I sought to reassure him that the money would come.
Keep the faith.  All shall be well in the end.
Then I donated a hundred bucks to keep his spirits up.

Another day he wrote:
Can you come for an audition planning meeting, 7:30?

Of course I said yes.  I love being with him and his people.  They make me feel so good.  Young and carefree.  I know what the pull was for my husband years ago when a twenty-something captured his heart.  The thing is, she was after his **** as well.  And she got it.  But then once she scored it, she moved on to the next conquest.  He was just a trophy, an older man she could claim to have seduced.  Not someone with whom she wished to have a meaningful relationship.

Handsome Actor and I are different.  We do not aspire to get into each other's pants.  At least, I do not aspire to get in his.  And I am almost certain that, unless he has totally lost his mind, he has no designs on what rests inside my panties.  He seems quite sane.  The reason I don't long to be in bed with him is that I am a traditional sort of lady.  One who is willing to entertain lustful thoughts about men born within 7 years on either side of my birthday.  Maybe ten.  If he were twenty years older, I'd be all over him.  Instead, I simply love him.  Like a dear friend.  Someone with whom one can share hopes and dreams and fears and kick around ideas and tell dirty jokes to.  Confide secrets and scheme plots to raise money to put on free Shakespeare.  We have a meaningful relationship.

One day, it had been about a week since we'd talked or texted.  We'd both been busy with stuff.  I heard the familiar ringtone signalling a new text from him.

God, I Miss You

Our text messages document the way our love for each other unfolds.
milkynips milkynips
46-50, F
1 Response May 18, 2012

Wonderful story and sounds like something great forming...