And then a sneaking suspicion rose over me. What if I had jumped too fast, what if the hurt that festered clouded my already foggy judgment on matters of the heart? Then I reconsidered, what I felt was too real to be a misstep. At the moment I was afraid – I sat stone faced while I remembered the harsh thoughts that caused me to break off what ever we had without notice. And then I was sure. Even surer than I was when I made the initial choice.
He got up to go but it felt incomplete there had been no resolve but I also hadn’t seen what I was searching for in his face. Instead I saw fury and judgment. That itself ignited my own fury. But somehow I was unable to let him leave. I watched him walk out of my door, slowly willing myself to follow. Was it bearing tomorrow without a thought of him that intrigued me so? I stood in the doorway to watch him leave, my eyes screaming what my mouth could not. It was dark but he caught my gaze. I wanted to say something, anything. I didn’t want him to go but I didn’t know why. He knew and he walked back to the doorway. I told him it would be easier if he totally agreed with me and walked away and never turned back. I told him that would solve everything. Now it was my mind’s turn to scream. It screamed to let him go – cast him off push him out the door and don’t look back. Something stronger than my mental and physical state held him there at my will. Never in my life have I not done what my mind screamed to. I must have told myself to let him leave 50 times. If that meant anything – what was it? Doubt? Fear of being wrong? Even now my eyes squint to understand what I was thinking while “doing” something different. And now I am indifferent.
Twice, I have reread the 7 paragraph email he requested. I read it again just to be sure that I said every word I meant. And twice I winced at the words that fluently lay on the paper as if I were calmly speaking them out loud. How did I get it so perfectly perfect on the page but stumble around with syllables as I spit them in his face just hours earlier. Each line was full of meaning and no word thought to harsh for the explanation. I understood it.
It’s hard to believe that I miss him. The last looks he gifted me have become haunting, as if I was the one that had inflicted the initial hurt, as if I was the cause of the situation that had become. Has he become a lost love unrealized? I yearn for the short times that were good, foolishly accepting that the far and in between would have to be enough – enough because it was more than I had ever had. It is greedy of me to expect more of what he seems to be incapable of giving.
Am I to forget the arc my body made to his whenever he was near? The flicker of heat that passed from his eyes to mine at the quaintest stare, am I to ignore the liquid that became my mind in anticipation of his touch? Now I only remember the emptiness of before, it’s settled back upon me. Nothingness has never been new to me. The pain has seeped from my palms at the slowest trickle and only felt when lost almost love has been mentioned. It is as it never was … at all.
I was a reluctant to wash his scent from me. The faint trace that he had just kissed my mouth was as good as gone anyway. Had the night we’d just spent together been a resolve? I felt that possibly I could have been freed by the completion of what I thought had always been. 3 weeks after our unofficial ending was here … and here we were unchanged. But somehow I felt a relief. Relief that I wasn’t hated but also relieved with knowing that the bed had been reason enough without reason for the ending.