He was there and then he wasn’t. Or maybe he was always there, and I just didn’t see him.
But then he went way so fast. He didn’t even say goodbye. He didn’t ask for my consent. Now he is just a whisper.
I am in denial. I am in shock. I never thought it could come to this.
Where there is love, it isn’t always enough. But when there is respect, honesty, trust, friendship, loyalty as well as love, then it should be OK. I want it to be OK. I guess it isn’t. It can’t always be. There are no assurances in life. No assurances in love.
I am sick. It feels like a disease is ravaging my body. It hurts so much that my mind won’t let it come all the way to the surface. I can’t feel it all now. I don’t want to. I can’t handle it. It’s too much.
I see what he sees. I need him to see what I see as well. But he cannot or will not. I don’t know which and I don’t know why.
Is there really anything new to say? Is it really anything surprising? Once I had room, I could think. Once I wasn’t seeing him, I could see him. And the clarity with which I saw was like a magnifying glass. But what I saw was devastating. I knew it was there. I knew it all along, but I found reasons for it. I found explanations. They still hold true. They were not lies to cover up the truth, but they were lies for me to stay. I minimized. I reasoned. I understood. I put myself to the side. I did it to avoid pain.
I had seen it from the beginning, as clear as day. As though I was looking into a crystal ball. And yet he convinced me otherwise. He convinced me to let my fears go and to jump in with both feet. He distracted me. He knew what I needed to hear. He was selfish in his pursuit of me, but I thought that would end. I had no idea how selfish he could be. But I do now.
Yet I know that he is not truly selfish. It’s a defense mechanism. It is self preservation for him. It is a way to keep himself safe from emotional pain. It is a way to avoid being hurt. He is so sensitive; he is so protective of his heart. But look at me, I am doing it again.
Is it love? Is it need? Is it want? Is it fear? Is it freedom? Is it safety?
Maybe it is all these things. And maybe that is OK. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe as long as we are aware of our motivations, it’s OK. Maybe as long as we know what is really going on, what our motivations are, and what we want or think we want, it’s just being human. And there is nothing wrong with being human. Being imperfect, being scared, being grounded and being crazy. Being neurotic and being level headed. Being rational and being irrational. Being aware and being blind. These are all the machinations of being human. Humanness.
I want to try to give it a color, a sound, a smell. Anything tangible. I see white. It’s wide open, never ending. Stark whiteness. Right now, as that comes into my field of mental vision, it feels comfortable. It feels exciting, but it feels scary and alone. Yet it gives the feeling of endless possibility. Is that possibility for me? For us? For both?
He sees white vastness as death. What irony.
It Takes Two
It is not enough just to love me. Clapping takes two hands. My hand is raised, but all I hear is silence.
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