The next night, my secret lover and I were having a meeting. He met me in the computer room, ran around the room, and I caught him. We embraced. Then, he left. It was my duty to find him.
I looked around the house. He was invisible, so I couldn't see him. I felt the energy of each room, but still, I couldn't see him. I walked around aimlessly. I was having a good time, but somehow I was tired and longed to go to bed.
“Las-agna pan!” He said in my ear.
I went quickly to the kitchen to find him in front of the oven. He hugged me. He took my hand. “Let's have sex.” He said.
We went to the computer room, hand in hand, and I lay down on the floor. He got on top of me and we started having sex. He was not solid, but I could feel an energy shift in my vagina when he entered me. After a couple seconds, he stopped.
Why did you stop?
Oh, I was thinking about something else.
He was making fun of the fact that my mind had wandered at that moment.
After awhile he started again, and I tried to concentrate on the task at hand.
He slowed down again.
Oh, I forgot what I was doing.
Then he left me. He wasn't done, he was just tired. He was making fun of me because I was tired.
Baby, I want to show you something. Put your clothes back on. I want you to see me in the moonlight.
Take his hand.
I reached out for his hand.
You don't have his hand.
Geez, he couldn't even put his hand in my hand? Eventually, I found his hand. I took him out into the back where the stars were shining. He stood behind me, wrapped his arms around me. I could feel his arms wrap around me. Then he stood in front of me.
Baby, I want to tell you something.... You're me.
No, we're not. We are two separate people.
No, you're not. You're me. The one I'm being.
I felt devastation envelope me, with the thought of my soul not being real. Of him being a figment of my imagination. He was referencing something I used to do when I was five. I used to say to myself, over and over again, “I'm me, I'm me, the one I'm being...” It freaked me out a little bit in a certain odd way, because I couldn't quite grasp what “me” was.
No you're not baby, no you're not baby...
Yes, we are one and the same.
He is trying to tell you something. This is what he feels every time you say “you're me.”
Here, let me carry you inside.
He picked me up. I was still standing on the ground, but I felt like I was floating above the ground. He carried me inside. Put me down. Hugged me one last time. And then he was gone.
I thought the whole “you're me” thing was a bit on the cruel side, because I was already fearful that this guy was just a figment of my imagination. I worried about that quite a bit. He insisted that it was not cruel, he hated when I said, “you're me” because of the desperation and pain he felt, thinking that I wasn't real. That I didn't exist. That's how he felt every time I said that.
I talked to my grandma afterwards, the one on the other side. She told me this whole thing was not romantic, it was exotic, because he was on the other side and I was on Earth. I asked what she thought of me saying “I'm me,” as a child. She said she didn't know, there was a bit of controversy up there regarding how normal that was. Some said that was normal childhood banter, others said it was a tad bit advanced for me at that age.
I looked at myself in the mirror, and smiled. I had a secret lover, one that my parents knew nothing about. This was happiness, it was too.
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