The Frenchman
In Summary, I had an amazing six days with him. Amazing. And of course, with that comes the post-visit blues. We said good bye today. I took him to the train station and we kissed and held hands. Neither one of us wanted to say good bye. I think when we agreed for him to come see me in London, there were very few expectations. He said that he wasn't even sure if I had a boyfriend or not. I thought that I would have sex with a hot French guy.
But as the days passed, we grew to like each other. He is a kind person. I don't say that lightly. There are very few kind people in this world, but he is definitely one of them. I think I mentioned that he is a social worker. He is also vice president of an organisation that supports single immigrant women with accessing public services. He said he doesn't have luck with women because he is often seen as too nice, especially for French women. You need to be a little mean.
There were so many good experiences. He spoke French to me and I spoke in English. We walked all over London. Drank in pubs. Held hands. Yesterday, we went to the park, had a picnic, laid in the sun, and drank wine. He put his head on my stomach and read aloud, 'the Portrait of Dorian Grey'. Bliss.
On the last night, we get into bed, as normal. I hug him and start kissing him. He stops me, pulls me SUPER TIGHTLY to him, and puts his lips on my forehead. He holds me for about 10 mins in silence.(This a long time, btw.) Finally, he says, "I am finding it difficult to express how I am feeling in English... I am feeling troubled at the thought of leaving you".
A colleague rightly pointed out that this could just be the "I'm having sex with a hot guy on holiday" and therefore, the feelings behind it are just the honeymoon phase. He lives in France and apart from these six days, we were not in each other's lives. He is working part-time in Grenoble, and starting a Phd in Paris. I am in London and there are no plans for us to meet up again. I should not take what he says seriously. It is, what it is.
When I saw him off at Victoria. There were sad faces. Then around 4 pm, I texted him that I was sad he was gone. He replied immediately that he was sad as well. Then I got an email on Monday night at 10:45 pm saying that he had made it back to France. It was a long journey full of reading and pain. (So French!) I emailed back and sent him the photos on Tuesday morning.
Since then, there hasn't been any real contact. He uploaded one of the photos to FB. And he has "liked" two of my statuses in the last two days. But no text and no emails. My gay male friend insists that I cannot contact him until after I am back from DRC. He is probably right but it is killing me.
So, that is the goal. No contact until I am back. I won't have much access so that will help.
Labels: bliss, French men, uncertainty
