As it begins, so it ends

As it begins, so it ends. That’s how it all began: I rubbed his head as he lay on my lap, and the plane took off into the sky. I cried as I saw the wheels lift off from the tarmac, saying to myself How far away, and feeling that I might not see those I left behind, not ever or at least not for a long time. I rubbed his head and got aroused with the blond and brown softness between my fingers, the way I had become aroused the night before, when he held me like a father and we slept together. That’s how it all began and I believe, I know, that’s how it will all end; my downfall will be the same, happen in exactly the same manner, as my upfall. A man will crawl beside me in bed or on a plane, or anywhere for that matter, and whisper things into my ear, promises he could never keep, and I will believe him, and, without ever making love with him and without the hope of ever doing so, I will do anything, risk anything, become anything, sick or healthy, wise or the damnedest fool, if only he is at my side.

            It hasn’t worked, my loyalty: he is long gone, injured, perhaps dead by now, and disappeared.  I haven’t become any better for all my loyalty and all my fantasizing of having a partner for life.  But, oh, I’ve changed, as a mountain changes, though not through slow erosion, but through an earthquake, or an avalanche.  Entire pieces and peaks and valleys of me have been split asunder, giant-sized chunks have fallen off, into the sea, have put all the lands of the earth on alarm for flooding.