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Before I met Ashley, before I ever dreamed of following the paths that have led me to where I am today, there was Maria.

Maria was my third love, my second real one, and, I once thought, my last.  She was a latina girl I met while studying abroad in Mexico.  I met her at a party that I never intended to attend but was forced into, because I was a bit devastated after my relationship with Kelly finally ended.  I didn’t speak enough Spanish to communicate and was very uncomfortable, so I went to the balcony to have a cigarette and admire the city.  She was there, shivering in her down jacket even though it was probably 60 degrees, trying to get her cigarette lit.  I wordlessly offered her mine, and to my surprise, she said, “Thank you.”

“Oh, you speak English?”

“What, you don’t?”

She was a cheeky little bitch.  I was instantly hooked.

Our relationship was… god, it was passionate.  Crazy passionate.  Dramatically passionate.  Full of the kinds of stories you usually only see in cheap soap operas and dimestore romance novels.  I even had to fight for her honor when someone called her a “malinchista” (think of it as “blood traitor”) for dating a white guy.  I mean, it was absolute insanity sometimes.  Our fights were epic affairs, yelling, pushing, swearing, cursing, crying… but Christ was I in love with her.  I would have given anything, done anything, gone anywhere and sacrificed everything I had, for one more day with her.

When I inevitably had to return to the States to finish school, I offered to quit, to move to her country and finish school there.  But she promised to come with me.  I filled out paperwork with the State Department to help her get her visa approved.  I sent her hundreds of dollars to buy her visa, and her plane ticket.  Then, a few months after my return, she changed her mind, and she left me.  Just like that.  No warning.  Nothing to suggest she was doing anything but planning her move.  Just… done.  A quick phone call while I was between classes.

I saw her one other time after that, after I met Ashley, but before we got married, before I was sure I wanted to commit myself to her.  It was my first trip for my new career, and it had me going through Maria’s city.  So I e-mailed her and told her I would be in town.  I told her I was in a relationship and wasn’t interested in anything more, but I wanted to see her, to catch up.  And I meant it at the time.  But the moment I stepped into the terminal and saw Maria standing there… fuck me to tears.  It was like we had never separated.  The moment we were alone, it was just like it was before.  The laughter.  The pain.  And god, the fucking.  Lovemaking so intense and fierce that Casanova himself would have been ashamed.  The sort of lovemaking that lasts for hours and leaves you breathless, exhausted, aching in every joint and muscle, but immediately starved for more.  You can’t write stories about that sort of thing.  You can’t take pictures of it.  There is no human descriptor that can adequately depict it.  It was pure, mindless, whole-hearted, passion.

After our intense affair ended and I went back to the States again, Maria told me she wished that I had never left the first time, and letting me go a second time was even harder.  She didn’t know what she wanted when she left me.  She claimed she didn’t want to ruin my life, though I don’t see how marrying me would have done that, so she left me.  Now she wanted me back in her life, but she wasn’t willing to be the reason I ended it with Ashley.  So Maria stopped talking to me.  I forced myself to move on, eventually fell in love with Ashley, and married her.

The day after my wedding, Maria called me and congratulated me on marrying Ashley.  I thanked her, and we hung up.  We chatted a few times after that, mostly about work and our families, but eventually, she confessed that she still loved me, and she severed all ties with me for several years.  Until today.

She messaged me on a social networking site and asked if we could Skype.  The moment I saw her… again, there are no words.  I didn’t think I could ever feel that again.  That same sick excitement, the urgency, the knotting in my gut that threatens to tear me apart from the inside.  We talked for hours, about everything and nothing, about the mistakes we’ve made, people we’ve seen, our relationships with others, and with each other.  About how much we miss each other.

I thought I was over her.  She’s thousands of miles away.  We haven’t spoken more than six times in over five years.  I moved on.  I got married for Chrissake.  Then one video call, and it’s like I’m back on that balcony, sharing a cigarette with this exotic woman whose mere presence is enough to make me dizzy with desire and rage and lust so intense that it consumes me.  There’s no way I can still be in love with her.  I love her memory, what she was and what we were.  But fuck, it feels so strong, so real.  I’ve honestly never felt this consumed by it, and so conflicted.

Fuck me to tears, man.

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6 Comments

  1. WOAH. Amazing story. Keep us updated!

    • If there are any more updates to that story, trust me, they will definitely be added here!

  2. “she said she didn’t want to ruin my life”
    my guess is she had a really good reason to say that, just from a chicks perspective
    oh and I love mexico city

    • I’m sure she did. It’s just hard for me to imagine what could have inspired that belief. I think it’s more likely that she didn’t want to leave her family behind like that. We certainly would have gone back to visit as often as we could, and we may have even ended up moving back there permanently, but that kind of uncertainty may have just been too much for her. I don’t know.

      Never been to Mexico City, but I’ve always wanted to go!

  3. painful, why does it have to be this way? i have a different way of making these situations more lovelier, less painful maybe. lets communicate via email.

    • Certainly. I have a gmail account associated with this blog on my Gravatar profile. Feel free to e-mail me any time you’d like!


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