When I saw this one on the list I thought that will be easy. Surprise…it is not.
I can identify who this person is without hesitation what I have issue with is how to convey the ‘spirit’ of the letter, without stepping on toes, without ripping open old wounds, without sounding insane, without a whole lot of other things too.
I get infatuated easily. I like observing people, I like attention. The elegant dance of getting to know you is highly intoxicating and attractive to me.
I also do that thing that girls are not supposed to do, I think what if not long after putting you into your box.
I’ve only been in love twice though.
I’ve had people hurt my feelings, hurt my ego, hurt my self esteem, but I have only had my heart broken by one person. Multiple times, but then again I am a shhhhhhh masochist.
There used to be a ‘diner’ on Ridge Ave, by the movie theater. I know the diner is no longer there, I have no clue about the theater. We went there once before it closed. I asked aloud the question that had been nagging me. I never did get a straight answer. I got a metaphor, and some circular discussion but when I asked the question directly the answer did not return in kind.
Despite that I still made the moves that I made and the preparations that I made. And I ended up spending my first birthday after meeting you alone.
It was my very first heartbreak and it hurt like only the first one can.
I was stunned and confused and lost even though I had not yet experienced all that there was to see on this road.
Eventually I got my mind right….eventually.
The darkness that was after that though….funny enough it would get darker.
I never gave up hope, I never gave up wishing, I never gave up on the concept, and literally years later there was round two.
At the conclusion of round two my heartbreak came not all that long after an unsolicited phone call. It was similar to the first time, but different.
I’d convinced myself that the first time was St Elmo’s Fire…. and I’d gone about the task of erasing things from my existence and memory. And then that connection, that phone call, that moment when I looked up. I was on the phone with Pat, who by the way is directly responsible for all of this, and I looked up and it was you.
I should have driven off then, but I followed instead. I eventually laid in your arms and knew that I never wanted to leave them again.
Coping during round two was different, because the boy was here. It didn’t hurt less, I just didn’t have the option of wallowing in the hurt.
If anything it hurt MORE, because it was our second chance. The one neither of us had the right to expect and it happened. We happened. Then we did not.
Third time is the charm.
When I say that I do not believe in coincidence people scoff. Then again they have never met anyone like me.
By now people who care about me are starting to question my sanity. I started to question my sanity. Until I walked down the steps and watched you pull up. From the moment that I saw you I knew. As I have always known.
We haven’t discussed round three….and I don’t know that I want to. It was ugly in ways I never knew ugly. It hurt in ways I never knew would be possible. I wrote a powerful poem about it…on the day I died….perhaps one day I will publish it here, but not today.
I put on a face for the outside world, and inside I wept.
Every day if I am telling the truth.
I know that I walked out of there with the boy and I swore that I would never look back. But I always did. I never stopped. Not once. Not ever. Not once.
I woke up every morning wondering where you were, and went to bed every night missing the soft cadence of your breath as you sleep.
Eventually I was able to reduce it to just those morning and nightly memories. But they never left me. ever.
That was the worst of the pain that has been endured.
The time between round three and ….
To have to spend every day wanting something that seems impossible is cruel and unusual punishment the likes our forefathers did not envision….but my vizion from the bottom saw it all.
I think that getting past round 3 is still painful. Because every day? I remember. I want to ask why but I will not.
I won’t ask because you may actually tell me. And that could be the straw that breaks my heart beyond repair.