Turandot

It was a picture postcard, the text he sent, a picture postcard of where he is, alone, on holiday. With: 'Wish you were here ... XX' written underneath. Amusingly I found that my mobile had done it's thing and turned itself off unnoticed by me else I'd have received it 8 hours earlier and thus would not have spent a fair amount of time fantasising about the mental torture I could serve to him. God I hate it when he's right!

A friend had mentioned he'd just gone away, so my irritation had been sparked by not knowing this, or at least not recalling that I knew this. Irritating to find then, that once he'd settled in his hotel he'd found a nice view and sent me a picture of it almost straight away. I wonder if he sent the same to the dowdy girlfriend as she is currently away on a long term mission so hence not with him (more on that, I'm sure, in another post), if he really did wish I was there or if he was just being lazy regurgitating a used text message. Furthermore given his reasonable attempt to get me to go with him whilst he was considering location, whether I wanted to be there with him, if I was irritated with his sentiment or just pleased that he thought of me at all.

Should I embrace this relationship with careless abandon, should I remain sceptical of his motives, or can I dare to sit back and gently appreciate it, all the while letting it develop into a deeper and stronger union? Rather than ponder that further let me tell you about Turandot, which I saw last night - it's the story of a beautiful Chinese princess, burnt from past experience she decides she will only marry the man who can answer her three riddles and those who fail lose their heads. The story unfolds, a prince succeeds to her horror but rather than take her hand he sets her a challenge: to discover his name before dawn - if she succeeds she can take his head, if she fails she must take his hand. The prince, blinded by her beauty and his love for her, crosses the chasm under moonlight and tells her his name, leaving his fate in her hands. As the opera reaches it's crescendo, we watched the princess take audience with her father, declaring that she knew the princes's name, and that it is Love.

If you don't already know, this is where Nessun Dorma comes from, and by the end I was fighting back tears, breathless with emotion, hand poised dramatically over my chest as if it would catch my heart when it burst out, unable to beat so fast in its own chamber. I identified with Princess Turandot; I've unintentionally set Him various challenges, which he has met at every step, and rather than bask in glory he challenges me, then changes the rules, handing me victory, relying only on the trust that comes from a deep unspoken love to save him from failure.

As a person who is loathe to trust at the drop of the hat, but who's socks have been well and truly knocked off in the most magnificent way by Him, I ask you: How does this happen in the real world, and how does one deal with it?! Baffling, quite honestly, baffling ...