The madness of my upside down relationship with Aquarius II continues. The waves of euphoria and sadness crash upon my head with rhythmic regularity and the dullness of my existence seems to be punctuated by sunshine spells of our coffee meetings.

Sometimes the coffee break stretches into a two-hour lunch break and I lose sense of time. I laugh often as I get lost in the depth of his eyes. Most of the time there is joy, and a strong erotic undercurrent to our conversation that brings flutter to my stomach and renders my knees weak. He speaks of sand between his toes, of touching a cashmere sweater or a box of mosaic and I melt at the sensual descriptions. There is some banter about sex as well, in broad daylight on office cafeteria premises, and somehow it is sweet and exciting and never dirty.

When he is traveling alone we text often. We exchange endearments like old lovers or share sweet nothings, virtual kisses and hugs, like a pair of teenagers. Why did I fall so hard for this man? I am often asked by the rational part of my brain, the part of me that likes order and logic, and organizes everything in a sets of yes/no switches or 0 and 1 binary codes. This whole thing does not compute, I tell myself.  And to be honest, this time there was no choice at all in the fall. It just happened, because of chemistry, timing and fate, a deep connection that I feel, as if I am part of this man, and he part of me. Even though we might never even kiss. I did not want to fall for him, and perhaps that was the reason for my tears at the outset and the initial heartbroken reaction. The reason why I felt so bereft (one of his favourite words) at the thought of giving away my heart to him.

Last week I told him in text “I decided that you might as well keep it”,  “Keep what?” he asked. I replied: “The heart you have stolen, I think it might be safer with you than with anyone else”. And so it is, I do trust him with my heart, and I know that between us there are no lies or jealousy -at least from my part. When, or if, he stops caring for me I am sure I will know because for some reason I think I can read him clearly. I know things about him that he never told me directly just by watching him, listening to him and tuning in to him. Coffee with him has turned into my drug of choice, as it brings me to unprecedented high. If by chance our fingers touch, the warmth reaches to my very core, I somehow know that if I ever kiss him I will shatter and explode into thousands of flaming sparks.

It is a pity that I spent more than half my life spared this sweet torture of love, and now I am living this relationship in reverse, where the heartbreak came first and I am now enjoying the flush of first love. It is a pity that in those scant and far-between loves and near-loves I tended, I never felt the “rushing waves” of passion in my moments of ultimate closeness with the men I loved. I lived more than half my life thinking I am a bit on the frigid side. The physical closeness never figured as an important part of my life. With the exception perhaps my first love (which was as innocent as the one I am living right now) I never remembered kisses or sexual encounters with fondness or even missed them. I thought that sex was overrated. Now, in this celibate relationship I am rediscovering myself again as a woman, and I am melting at his mere words or in the blue flame of his eyes. Sometimes it makes me sad, an untimely spring so close to winter, and I keep picturing what the coming frost will do to this out of time eruption of youthful bloom. At other time I try to enjoy the energy, the sensation of being alive, loving and loved, along with the inconvenience of unfulfilled longings and desires. And there are also times when I laugh at the cosmic joke that presents me with the rush of innocent first-love, when I have already embraced middle-age and anticipated menopause.

Dear providence, thank you for the gift. Bittersweet as it is, I like it. I am learning to appreciate it. And if it was your idea of a joke, I can take a joke even if it was on me.