Because the tragedy of it truly is hilarious.
I couldn't write it more exquisitely if the typewriter sitting in my living room possessed the power to actually impact my life.
He ended things.
Not because of me.
Not even because he doesn't have feelings for me.
I saw it all last night, the violent swirl of chaos flickering in his eyes.
Once again outside forces have planted their roots between us.
And for some reason, some inexplicable cause, I am calm.
Inordinately, eerily calm.
I don't know the woman I am right now.
But I'm kind of falling head over heels for her.
I thought perhaps it was purely shock.
It's been nearly twenty-four hours and the body has an impressive way of dealing with tragedy, of working overtime in its survival mode, going through the motions out of necessity.
But I woke up just as balanced and I realized my calm was by choice.
I've never handled a breakup with such ease.
And it wasn't because my feelings for him weren't strong.
No, quite the contrary, I was fairly certain I'd always been in love with him, and surely always would be.
It was beyond my measurable control.
But that's the beautiful thing with love-
it endures.
It didn't mean I wouldn't find my way into someone else's arms.
I knew when enough time had passed I'd even love someone else.
In an entirely new way, unique to the specific connection I shared with that man.
But that would have nothing to do with him.
Just as his choice right now had nothing to do with me.
And maybe in some perverse fucked up way, I was lucky.
Because I'd already lost him once before.
I'd pined for him, and mourned his absence and felt fortune's fool for believing in a connection the world believed was one sided.
But then.
Then he revealed to me the truth.
The truth of how he'd never stopped thinking about me.
The truth of how he'd stayed away from me and tried desperately to ignore his feelings for me because he knew our connection was still there.
And something about it all was frightening.
And it was too much.
And it must have been easier to love a simple girl, to choose something familiar and comfortable, something where you knew where it would take you, to the extent of how it would push you.
While nothing about the ecstasy existing between us was fathomable to either of us.
We were the stars in the sky, distant and vibrant and burning intensely until we formed a supernova.
But this time, this page in our story, he was the one who was vulnerable.
He took my hand and wouldn't loosen his grip while his body held on to mine. He played his songs for my ears because he wanted me to finally know the overwhelming depths of him.
And four nights later he said he was conflicted.
Confused.
Uncertain.
And not even trusting the choice he seemed to think he needed to make.
And I should have been mad.
I should have cried or screamed or punched him in his freshly formed face.
But, contrastly to him, his nervous hands tucked in his pockets, I was certain. Confident.
A calm, cool goddess.
And I've never stood in the storm that is a breakup that way before.
I've never had no desire to fight or question or try to convince him otherwise.
I simply said, I hope things work out for you.
Because we had already endured our holocaust.
We had shut one another out completely and believed we would have nothing to do with one another ever again.
And yet.
And yet.
This energy, this madness that existed between us, in spite of us, had fucking endured.
It violently thrived.
In spite of our most virulent efforts to destroy it.
And who, in the history of all great loves, could look into the eyes of their lover knowing that?
So there was a part of my heart, amidst this ill timed goodbye, that was laughing at him.
Laughing.
Not in mockery or out of malice, but at the sheer circumstance that we stood there, rain kissing our cheeks, drops sticking to our hair, him in his tux, me in my fitted lace dress, like some scene in a movie.
He wanted me to believe his uncertainty but I felt my heart reach up and pat him on the head.
Silly little epic fool.
Oh, adorable one.
Have you still learned nothing yet of this force between us?
It was violently clear, from the flicker in his intense brown eyes staring, searching in mine, this wasn't over.
And somewhere I knew that was the reason for my calm.
And so I smiled at him.
And I said, Just promise me this. Promise when you realize you're an epic fool, you'll call me.
And a grin took over his lips and he sighed quietly, Oh Teresa. Fuck.
And looked into my eyes the way he had each night I'd spent in his bed.
And I leaned up and kissed him softly on his cheek, a long, slow kiss, my red lips leaving a perfect mark.
And he closed his eyes and held his breath as he felt the inaudible whisper rise up from my heart.
I love you.
And nothing.
And no one.
Will ever change that.
This connection.
This force he said he didn't understand, still didn't understand.
It was something else entirely.
And it would haunt him.
Continually knaw at his insides, as it had done, as it would continue to do, this past year, this next.
And I wickedly delighted in that.
Trusted that.
In knowing my face would appear when he closed his eyes.
And eventually the ache, the longing, the fucking burning in his skin would drive him to blinding certainty.
And I had no idea where I would be, who I'd even be with, when his name appeared across my phone once again.
And Timing, while she tries relentlessly to rule my moon, no longer held her power over me.
Because I spent the last year in the arms of other lovers and somehow, found my way back to his.
And I was lucky.
I'd already lived the impossible.
So I already knew anything, oh yes, absolutely anything was possible.
And I'd never trusted anything with more certainty than that.
Unwavering, resolute, certainty.
No comments:
Post a Comment