Originally written and published several years ago. Republished today just because.

It’s been over a year since Henry and I broke up, and I’ve said very little about the relationship that was, since that happened.

This is not me breaking my silence. Not exactly. But i feel moved to write, which happens less and less frequently these days, as I feel my world slowly crumble before my eyes — so I let the muse speak from within me, and I lay myself bare before you.

The nature of the connection between Henry and myself was incredibly real and intense, and the break-up shook me to my core. Having now — finally — achieved closure, due in no small part to him, I believe I can start moving on emotionally, and mentally.

Physically was never really an issue. Which is odd, and yet unsurprising. The physical aspects of sex, while utterly fabulous while they last, have a habit of being short-lived and fading to the level of distant if fond memory, causing a mysterious smile to play about the lips of the one remembering, and a knowing glint to sparkle in their eye. It’s the mental shit that screws you over. Yes, indeed.

Henry was my muse. My soul mate. He understood what I was thinking before I’d had the chance to articulate it to him. He knew how I worked, how I ticked, how I’d react to any given situation. He cared for me very much, in a manner that I was both unused to and blown away by… he loved me so much! He wanted to protect me from any and all harm, which, of course, he couldn’t do, but it was his wish that I should be happy. More than anything else, he wanted that.

At one point there were nasty horrible people who wanted to harm me. Henry wanted to banish them and all memories of them from my life. He was the Walter Raleigh to my Queen Elizabeth, as he gallantly, if metaphorically, laid his cloak over the shit-strewn puddles of the blogosphere so that I might walk without soiling my dainty feet. (And considering the size and heft of my ass, my feet are comparatively pretty damn dainty.)

He was the John to my Yoko. We were constantly together, always thinking each of the other, living only until we could be together again when separated. He would be with me at work, in the bottom corner of my screen and I frankly wonder how it was that I ever managed to achieve anything at work, since talking to him was infinitely preferable.

I missed him. Over the last year I used my experimentation to block out the searing pain of missing him. I met others, some who may even one day take his place in my heart. But no one replaced him because he’d not gone anywhere. I was angrier with him than I think I’d ever been at anyone before in my life — besides myself, against whom I had an ongoing viciously rude dialogue for many years, until therapy helped me work out that particular kink in my system. He had betrayed me in the worst way precisely because I relied on him more than I’d ever allowed myself to rely on another.

He hurt me more deeply than anyone else ever has — because he loved me more than anyone else ever has. As I loved him. As clichéd a qualification as it is, I loved him. Truly. Madly. Deeply. With all my heart and soul… with every creamy-skinned centimeter of my body and mind.

I loved him but I had to let him go. The reality was too much for him, the fantasy not enough. It took me a good year to get over him, and now, thanks to him and the honesty that always prevails with him (if occasionally somewhat tardily), he stepped up and took responsibility for what he had done, thus quieting my rage and soothing my deep hurt.

I miss him. I always will. I was June to his Henry Miller — yes, that is the source of our names. And in some way, the love I had for him will never be extinguished entirely. I owe him so much; were it not for him and his fabulously perverted mind I would never have been able to melt down the final barriers of my repressed upbringing; nor conduct such a carefully constructed sexual experiment.

I thank him publicly for everything, and acknowledge equally publicly that he will always own a corner of my bruised and battered heart.

Goodbye, my darling. I will only ever wish you well.