The Space Between Us
What happens when love fades away?
Soundtrack (2009 to 2011): Siren Song, from Two Suns by Bat For Lashes
There has been one relationship from my past I haven't wanted to revisit... for years, I went to this numb place where I simply felt indifferent. I met his coldness with dark depths of my own, and stopped feeling anything for him. I stopped feeling altogether... I had to in order to survive, though it was a short term fix I am paying for now. I wasn't always this way, life - not just him - has shaped me into someone very different to the free-spirited and trusting girl many people knew me to be. Though once a year or so, I would still send an email or Facebook message in vain, wanting to wish him well, hoping he is okay… it’s this ingrained thoughtfulness and concern for his well-being I can never really let go of fully. I gave up asking for a conversation to grant us closure sometime in 2022... I knew he wouldn't, though I longed for that moment we both wished each other well. We were together for six years.
Before him, there was S. He was (is, I guess) a soulmate in the truest sense of the word - we not only have the instantaneous connection afforded over similar passions and life experiences, but we connect sexually, intellectually, emotionally and of the soul. My connection with him bookends my connection with the subject of this post, and the kind of love I share with S best described as follows. I adore that final scene in Jackie Brown. It may even be my favourite Tarantino scene of all time. The way her eyes are searching his, as she asks coyly “are you scared of me?”. Max gives a smile, and says "a little bit". But we know it isn't Jackie that frightens him... he’s scared of how she stirs life in him that he didn’t consider before. It’s beautiful what they awake in one another, everything left unsaid as she drives away. You can see and feel the depth of his regret, knowing he won’t share that connection with anyone else again. As he answers his phone and watches her walk away, there’s enough in both their exchanges to suggest they will try to find each other again, someday far away. That excitement and beauty and desire and yearning and realising the kind of life that is possible - it always struck my heart and made me smile. What S and I shared was the kind of once in a lifetime connection that held the potential of everything incredible we could share, be and build together. There was peace within that freedom… something beautiful. He knows that as much as I do. It breathed life into us both instead of lulling it to sleep. But somehow in spite of this, we wound up in relationships that took that life and that potential, that freedom, that sexuality, and tamed it... made it fit neatly into something that will never quite keep it contained. But burying those parts doesn’t extinguish them… and it means the relationship becomes extra work down the line. He wound up choosing to marry the one that offered him that life, while the one I wound up with… he broke my heart.
Trent was closer to me than any other friend I have ever known. We loved each other, so much. But it wasn't romance... the physical intimacy over years became work, rather than something we both naturally felt. We slowly drifted apart, and in the end we accepted that we were no longer true lovers. He was bolder than me in the end, recognising that letting each other go would be the kindest thing we could do. His heart was no longer invested in us, and he knew I innately understood that yet wouldn't dare voice it. We were best friends, yet we simply just fell out of romantic love.
The thing is, when a long-term relationship ends, it slips so slowly from your grasp that you don't even realise it’s happening until you are picking up the pieces. Love can fade… we aren't taught that truth. For those of us who feel things deeply, who have a beautiful darkness that haunts our steps, we need something deeper to keep that love alive during a lifetime. We need to feel seen and desired, we need something that dances with the depths of everything we are. I also got very sick, and the only way to cope with the searing physical chronic pain was over the counter opiates. I lost my fire, so slowly that he didn’t intervene until it was too late for both of us.
I know I played a part in that space between us, I know that he did too. But I also know... our emotional needs in the end simply weren't aligned. I’m the beginning Trent brought out my life and desire to live - not just survive. But by the end that was lost. The irony is the person I am on the other side of it all is much more suited to a relationship with him - but that ship has well and truly sailed. I also know my illness (through no fault of my own) took away everything from me, and I didn't handle it well (now I manage it all much better, maintaining creativity, employment and savings for over two years). He also handled the years that followed our relationship very poorly. His actions went against every promise he made to me, leaving me more isolated than I had ever found myself in my adult life, without the peace that comes with the courtesy of closure. I grew panicked, and my heart broke all over again as I lost my best friend a second time. For years, I was numb at best, bitter at worst. I became this person I hadn't realised I was capable of becoming.
But I broke through it.
And for the first time in five years I remember the good we shared without bitterness in my heart. He wouldn't give me closure, so fuck it. I am creating my own. I want to tell our story... I deserve the space to do that.
(naturally all names have been changed, in this case lifted from well known goth musicians and/ or their partners. Picture them as you will 😉).
CHAPTER ONE
I'm so glad you came
I'm so glad you remembered
The walking through walls in the heart of December
The blindness of happiness
Of falling down laughing
And I really believed that this time was forever
(The Cure - Last Dance)
I remember the first time I saw him. I was out with my best friend Andrew, who knew Trent through Wollongong connections. We went into Newtown's Town Hall Pub to get a drink, and they were hosting a trivia night upstairs. Andrew spotted Trent and went over to say hello, introducing me at the same time, and my breath caught. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Long and straight jet black hair, high and pronounced cheekbones (not unlike my own) that drew into focus his eyes, and an angular jawline. He was tall and slender, with legs for days that were looking incredible in black skinny jeans. He dressed entirely in black, a long thrifted Priest's coat paired with a button shirt, and combat boots. Dark eyeliner and eyeshadow swept over his eyes. Trent had grown up in a small coastal town, and like me, eventually found his own brand of weird and wonderful became too big for the place he grew up in. So he moved to Sydney's Inner West. The night I met him, I had recently liberated myself from a very short yet tumultuous affair with a man that adored me, but who was too lost in his own self-discovery to appreciate what we had. In 2009 I had been living in Sydney for nearly a year, having just moved into a dilapidated six bedroom share-house in Ashfield, where we paid $475 a week. It was every inch the artists corner, perfect for our welfare-benefit income. We painted the walls and each took a room - I chose the spacious bedroom closest to the front, with floor to ceiling windows that let in golden sunlight by late afternoon. I loved it. Back then I had just traded my wardrobe of vintage dresses for velvets and thrift-store silk shirts I wore belted as dresses. My long honey golden brown hair had recently been cut short and dyed the brightest red. Tori Amos was never far from my heart.
He and Andrew exchanged hellos, and I noticed he was sitting there with several friends. When we walked away, I asked Andrew if he knew whether Trent was single. "I am pretty sure he is..." he said with an amused smile. "Just give me a minute" I said, and feeling bold I wrote down my phone number and email and went up to Trent. "Look I don't know whether you're single or not, but if you would like to meet up sometime I would like that". He seemed surprised, but didn't turn me down. I smiled, and left with Andrew to catch the train back home to our home in Ashfield.
A week passed, and I assumed he wasn't interested. Then I got a text - it was him asking if I wanted to meet. Of course I wrote back. We arranged to meet in Newtown again, on a rainy day in June. It was a beautiful afternoon, as we spoke of mutual friends, I mentioned my writing, and we talked about music and loneliness and I found him... soft and attentive and kind. He seemed to struggle with the umbrella, failed to keep me totally shielded from the rain, and I used it as an excuse to link his arm and be close to him. Eventually we sat on a park bench holding hands, as we watched tiny bugs swim in a puddle. He talked about his Masters thesis that he was in the midst of completing. There were silences... but they were comfortable. I knew then it was a calm connection - that of true friendship, not the passionate love I had known before. It could be good for me, I thought... we promised we would email, and we kissed each other on the cheek before parting. As soon as I got home, I sent a piece of my writing to him. I found out later he went home and sat on his couch, wrapped up in a blanket. "Oh god..." his housemate said. "The date was that bad?". He insisted it was the opposite, and she encouraged him not to waste anytime asking me out again. He didn't, and I woke up the next morning to an email from him...
Date: Thu, 4 Jun 2009 02:39:38 +1000
Subject: Can't sleep, clowns will eat me.
From: trent_isnt_his_realname@gmail.com
To: not_telling@hotmail.com
Hey,
I'm nearly done with that dumb thing that i need to do for stuff and things. I should finish the bulk of it tonight, then finetune tomorrow. I am not so stressed now. Nevertheless, it is boring, and I would rather write to you, and read from you, as the case may be.
Thank you for letting me read your writing. I wonder, you have a very different view of the world from I. You choose to look into people and nature and find beautiful things, whereas I look into people and metropolis to point out what is ugly. They are very different things, though I don't think one is better than the other, balance? I'm getting a bit Yin and Yang now, and eastern philosophy is not my strongest suit. Regardless of my late night ramblings, I very much enjoyed your writing. There is alot of you in it, so I can see why it is personal. Thank you for trusting me with it.
I had a really great time today. I'm sorry that I am a shit-house umbrella wrangler, and that I made you sit in the rain while we watched bugs. It felt good to talk about life's baggage. I'm not always good at talking about things, but you are a good listener, which makes things easy. I hope your foot dried ok.
I look forward to seeing you soon, on next tuesday, whatever it is we decide on. Maybe we can go to Bingo this week, cult movie next? I'm not so concerned. I'll give you a call before then, and i'm on the internerd often enough.
I will now go finish my 'masterpiece'. Sigh...
Till next we meet, small gorgeous creature,
T xo
Another date and a few days later, it was my 22nd birthday. He came over, and being the sexually forward woman I am, I was very ready to sleep with him, but he held back. Wanted to get to know me more. I understood it was a vulnerability with him, so I didn't push. Instead I spent my birthday writhing and begging in the very best ways as we did everything else two people could do, and afterwards we lay in one another's arms as Bat For Lash's album Two Suns played. He confessed to me that his ex had suffered from clinical OCD, that in the two years they were together she made him feel as though everything natural and beautiful about sex and foreplay was something that needed to be showered off immediately after every act of intimacy, that to want to hold the person you love afterwards was disgusting somehow. She most certainly had a mental illness, but she let it impact him in a deeply ugly way. The part of me that is equal parts protective and compassionate wanted his second experience with a woman to be beautiful. So I was patient and quietly supportive, and thrilled that he understood my darker desires. I found myself falling in love with him.
CHAPTER TWO
Help you dress yourself up fancy
And bathe you when you get sore
I'll be good
I think I could
Be all you would want and more and more
Be proud when you dazzle the wanderers
Glitter your eyes for the town
Tell every last boy that you're my man
I'll try not to let you down
(Siren Song, Bat For Lashes)
I remember the first time we slept together. I was over at his place in Sydney's Inner West, I had been helping him edit his final draft for his Masters thesis. We got Indian from a small takeout place and ate it in the park, before returning to his house down the road. I met his flatmate, who was distressed over her lost rabbit. I offered words of comfort as Trent and I went into his room. We lay down on his bed as the sun had started to set outside, and Clan of Xymox played in the background. We began kissing, as we slowly undressed. It was beautiful and lovely, and he was thoughtful and attentive. If he was nervous, he didn't show it. I know that he had his fair share of trauma from his first (and only) partner. I on the other hand, was wild and free and passionate and gentle, and I made a point of gently encouraging him, making sure he knew how beautiful he was, making sure he felt safe. Making sure he understood my darker desires. He had lived with a friend who was also a professional dominatrix, and she had taught him the wonderful world of BDSM kink and rope play. He actually expanded my world, even though I was already very experienced and sex-positive. He had this amazing belt that would become my favourite of all his accessories, crafted from malleable leather with enough rivets that he could secure my wrists any which way he pleased.
But BDSM would come later. This first time... we just learned to be close to one another, got to know our desires and pleasures.
Afterwards, we lay together. The only thing I felt truly insecure about (an insecurity that remains with me to this day) was my petite chest size... as we were lying next to one another on his bed, my instinct to cover my chest took over and my hands unconsciously crossed over me. He noticed this and moved to the edge of his bed, at the foot of which was a large mirrored dresser. Come here he said gently, and I did. He faced me to the mirror, and shifted behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder and meeting my eyes in our reflection. Wordlessly, he softly pried my hands from my chest, and I dipped my head and curled my shoulders in embarrassment. My hands instantly covered myself again, but he took them and interlaced his fingers with my own. Look at me he said quietly, but not weakly. And I did. You are beautiful. You are perfect. I turned to him, searching for some hint that he was placating me, and found none. It was sincerity, and in that moment I knew ours would be a calm, steady and wonderful love. He then picked me up and laid me down on his desk and we enjoyed each other for the second time that afternoon.
He left to go to work, and I stayed behind watching the second season of True Blood. While he was gone, I took the opportunity to take in the details of his room. I could see his special brand of gothic quirkiness everywhere - there were a collection of vinyl records which included the entire catalogue of The Cure, Sisters of Mercy and his absolute favourite - Siouxsie & The Banshees (through him I would discover and fall in love with The Creatures). There was a rail holding his clothing, mostly black. Antique furniture and a beautiful collection of jewellery adorned his dresser, along with eye makeup. At a desk sat his desktop computer, along with scattered books and papers. A bookcase held a range of vintage bound volumes on the occult and HP Lovecraft. But perhaps most strangely, were the clocks. Dozens of them, all analogue and decades old, varied shapes and sizes. He collected time, or so he joked. My test later that night would be sharing his bed with all of them wound up and ticking away at the same time (not something he did every night, more his twisted sense of humour). Maybe I just have an unnaturally high threshold for weirdness, but I just shrugged and said bring it on. With both of us in bed I rested my head on his shoulder, my right leg hooked around him as his arms held me tight. We slept through the night.
Over the next few months, Trent and I spent more and more time together. I remember I was still talking to my ex at this time, who was married with a baby on the way. He asked about him, and I described him like this:
"We have been together for about five months... He is beautiful, kind and I am kinda in awe of him. He is a very pretty goth boy but without all the baggage that usually comes with that subculture, and he is more into the music of the 80's and 90's then the metal stuff. We are kind of opposite on the surface, but it seems to work well".
Trent was a very social creature, more-so than I was. He had some toxic friends back in his hometown that gas lit and humiliated him, and like me, found comfort in the big group of freaks we hung out with. He discovered himself... and in the way that I help those I love, I encouraged him, helping him find amazing new clothes, giving him space to be himself in the very best ways. He had a very precise wit - his wry observations could be both sardonic and acerbic. He wasn't a deeply emotional person, at least not in the way that I was. He kept my free spirit steady and grounded (though after five years alone I’ve now learned how to be grounded in myself, without help). But the thing that made me fall in love? He was wickedly funny. I mean... the funniest person I have ever known. He would tell these stories, put on these voices, and just have me (and others) in hysterics, unable to catch a breath. There may not have been passion like I had with Clarence and Danny, but we were best friends. I in turn made him smile, and was this warm and supportive presence in his life. He would privately express affection in very sweet ways and had a long list of pet names and cute voices that were entirely for me. But... there was a darkness there too. Wounds that ran deep, a history of depressive episodes and occasional self-harm. He had a network of scars on his arm, and I knew it was the emotional abuse of others and a deep self-loathing that had put them there (I didn't voice it at the time, but I had never forgiven his ex for adding to his pain while they were together). In those peaceful quiet moments, I would softly kiss them. A gentle reminder. I held a loving and beautiful space open for him, as I have for all the men I have loved.
Trent was a heavy social drinker... he could hold his own but I at the time preferred to abstain from alcohol after some alarming black-outs in high school, opting to take hallucinogens or MDMA on occasion instead. After one such gathering, we got back to his place, and were getting ready for bed when he grew emotional.
"Hey my darling....What's wrong..." I asked gently, letting him lie his head down in my lap as I stroked his straight black hair.
"You are just so beautiful and amazing... and I am not those things. I know I will end up hurting you, maybe not now but one day... and you deserve better than me..."
I didn't heed his words. I felt confident that as long as we didn't give up on one another, we would always be in each others corner. We could work through anything. I wasn't scared of his darkness... the wounds of others have never left me afraid. I smiled warmly and told him not to worry, and I simply held him a while. For our six month anniversary, we surprised each other with amazing gifts. He bought me Y Kant Tori Read on vinyl picture disc, and I bought him a special (and rare) framed tour poster of Siouxsie's 1993 Superstition tour to Australia for her shows at the Enmore, something I had seen him eyeing off whenever we visited Egg Records in Newtown. Gifts between us were always personal, fun, quirky and heartfelt, just as we were. We also had turned each other on to a whole new world of music and film - he played me 80's dark wave and industrial like VNV Nation in all its glory, and I shared the obscure weird and wonderful with him, like Klaus Nomi, Nina Hagen and delightful queer freaks of the 80's.
The first two years of our relationship were bliss. He also (with my gentle encouragement) reconnected with an old childhood friend Susie from his home town, an enigmatic and very musically talented woman, who much to his chagrin had started dating Nick, a tall, slender and older (only by a decade) misanthropic American professor at Trents university. But after a while, he found that he liked her new partner. He saw that between them they had discovered the kind of love that lasted a lifetime, that Nick became warmer after meeting Susie and had his own special brand of dark humour. The four of us had fun, frequenting Winter Magic Festivals and often enjoying dinners together. I had a photography habit back then, and often hauled round my Olympus SLR camera to various parties and gatherings, capturing everybody at their best. I didn't mind it, it kept me engaged without having to drink. I also loved seeing him with flourishing friendships, and would happily be his designated driver at parties. The downside to all this was that I often didn't have the social energy he did, so he became the life of the party, his natural charisma drawing people in. People never really got to know me... If I could go back, I would have let myself go a little more. Been more free.
CHAPTER THREE
You alright?
Fine my darling... having a few words with the gods.
Oh?
I am demanding they reveal the secret to their powers.
How's that working out for you...
Will let you know.
Well, we may have had that conversation out loud, but we were too outside of our own bodies to really notice. Everything about the experience was strange, otherworldly, beautiful, as though we had the mysteries of the universe at our fingertips.
Then the giggle-loop started.
I am not sure what set us off, but quiet laughter quickly became maniacal fits of giggles. We were madness incarnate, in tears of laughter unable to catch a breath. At some point we realised it would be nice to crawl into our sleeping bags, and began to make our way back to our tents in the pitch black. Except... we couldn't find them. Hours passed, and still we wondered, trying to discern hallucination from reality. We tried every which way, "that ways north" "noooo, that's south" "Nooo. Its north - that's the north star!" "that's the moon you idiot... also why the fuck does north or south matter it won't tell us where we pitched our freaking tent".... then the giggles would have us doubled over all over again. Several hours later, the very beginnings of a new dawn lightened the sky.
The tents were just ten short metres away from us the entire time.
The first half of our relationship were full of so many incredible adventures like that - music festivals, parties, incredible social gatherings, sexual excitement as we’d escape somewhere and he let me have my way with him before returning the favour. Plus a trip to Tasmania that was lovely until the very last day, when some asshole kids stole his wallet and medication (still get a flash of rage thinking about that). Trent found a room in a house down the road from me with a few of our mutual friends, which worked perfectly for us. We had a beautiful, vibrant life. The themed parties inspired both of us to be truly free and creative in fashion like we never were before. I helped him finish his thesis, and always supported him, driving him to interviews or wherever he needed. I worked up the courage to apply for university, and made an application to the University of Sydney for their Arts program, thrilled when I secured a scholarship and was admitted that year. In the meantime, Trent found himself dreaming of fashion design (much to the annoyance of his father). I encouraged him to take a short college night course to see how he liked it before committing to the intensive TAFE program. With my continued gentle support and encouragement and help with the endless applications and rides to fabric stores across Sydney, Trent secured a place in one of the most respected fashion design courses in Sydney. Our dreams were being realised as we followed our true passion.
I was also deeply protective of him. Trent was definitely someone that stood out - as striking as he was his wondrous androgynous and gothic look often attracted the hateful attention of small-minded assholes. There were many times some wife-beater wearing, shit kicking, shoulda been a cum-stain in his daddy's tube sock dudebro would scream "FAGGOT!" out of his car window, or something equally vile and unoriginal. I would simply take Trent's hand in my own, quietly seething. He took it in his stride, giving my fingers a reassuring squeeze as if to say it's okay. I'm used to it. Don't let them bother you.... Still, my anger would linger.
CHAPTER FOUR
Our time together was tranquil, as our evenings were spent sitting in comfortable silence, as I would cook dinner or we ordered take-out. He played computer games, and I would watch T.V series or movies on my laptop in bed. Or I would read, as he sewed some outfit together in the next room late into the night as music played. We shared inside jokes, played classic board games together. It was an easy relationship, we were best friends. Our sex life was satisfying and kinky and gentle and sweet, we slept together 3 to 5 times a week with ease, though I certainly was the more sexually driven of the two of us.. I was also starved for a little romance, and dropped hints that I would love an occasional love letter or romantic gesture like surprising me with dinner, but nothing ever really eventuated. He just didn't have that... fire that I shared with someone like my first love (Clarence and I could arouse each others senses with a mere look, no words were ever needed, it was mutual instinct and desire). I don't believe it was a coincidence that I stopped writing shortly after Trent and I started dating, either. I put the deep and intense parts of me on the shelf. I longed to be someone that fit together perfectly with him… he was often kind in small, everyday ways too (like how he always sewed my buttons back on, and drew me silly pictures in MS Paint), and so I settled, putting aside my wild sexuality for the sake of our relationship. It was a small sacrifice, I told myself.... we fit together in every other way. But that hunger is so imperative to sustaining a romantic partnership. When its gone... its as though there is no gravity and passion to pull you through the inevitable hardships that come after many years together. I should have worked at it more.
Still... we loved each other so much, and any occasional doubts I raised to him were quickly put to rest. "No matter what issues we have, I promise I will always work through them with you." he said to me when I had expressed uncertainty. Soon after that, my ex hurt me unequivocally by imploding our friendship, so I set aside my doubts for good and gave my heart entirely to Trent. We began the third year of our relationship in 2011. I was six months into my studies and consistently getting HD's, and had even secured an academic mentorship in my first semester from two lecturers who were impressed by my essay writing skills and passion. Trent was also consistently inspired, his depression part of a previous life as he continued to create. We were both thriving and exquisitely happy.
And then I got sick...
A mysterious illness that at the time was left untreated and undiagnosed by an inept medical system for nearly 2 years. It ravaged my body, mind and soul and ripped my happy world right from my hands, leaving only suffering and my broken body in its wake. By the time I healed and became stronger and calmer… he had given up on us, and I had given up on myself. I became a recluse, to anxious to ever leave the house, see my friends. I lived in fear because I had given up on myself and T just… didn’t notice. Not out of malice, but just because as long as I was there to support his needs in the most basic way, he didn’t look beyond that to invest in my well-being like I did his.
Within three years we broke up. I cried in his lap, begged him not to leave me. It did no good. Within two years after that, I lost his friendship even though it had been promised as I was slowly frozen out of his world. I blamed myself. What followed was a long 6 year journey back to myself, with S waiting for me on the other side with what little he could give me in his hands.
In 2022, I ran into Trent for the first time in years… he was rambling and nervous, and I cool and collected. Cold, but still with distant love in my heart. I needed to know he was okay, and I would seek that answer from a mutual friend, but as we stood there it dawned on me… “oh my god, he’s nervous…” I felt a little satisfied as I simultaneously realised, he had taken the easy way out and I had not. And in that moment, I refused to be ashamed for that anymore. I love… with everything I am. And that’s okay.
With that… came something I was searching for all this time.
Peace. Not beholden to anyone. My own peace that no one would ever take away from me again. For that… I am thankful.
"This love... it's a strange, strange love..."
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