Dear Forever, Maybe Never,
This is one of the hardest things I've ever had to write. Honestly, I never thought the time would come when I would have to write this.
No, scratch that.
I didn't think the time would come when I would be brave enough to write this. To write this means I would come closer to accepting this new reality.
I had to decide which would be the more crushing to my spirit: the aforementioned or to hold on to the sliver of a dream.
The dream of you.
What narrative would provide the most minimal impact …
In one narrative, we found each other, but extenuating circumstances got in the way. We ended amicably. We believed the circumstances were temporary and that we would find our way back to each other.
Yet, the lifetime did not manifest.
In another, we are like oil and water. Initially, we could not see the connection, but like magnets, we were drawn to each other.
Nothing could sabotage us. Except us.
And we did.
We kept up the appearances of moving on, but when we passed each other in the streets ... behind our eyes: deep sadness, unhealed regret.
These narratives are one but many, yet they all share the same ending.
I am the one left standing ... alone.
When I've chosen to follow the path laid in front of me: alone.
When I've been defiant and blazed my own path: alone.
When I've just been still and let be, the only one shown is me.
Yes, when I got married, I believed the person was my forever. There are instances when the marriage almost felt like a mirage. The vulnerability mirrored in front of him was weaponized against me in the smallest of spats.
Sure, there are moments I could have handled differently. But when the person I first knew was different than who I made vows with, how could I prepare? How could I pivot?
Holding on was fueling him, but it was destroying me.
I let go to get me back, but even then, I didn't know who was reflected back at me.
Years later, after all of this building. All of this fortifying. All of this reclaiming. All of this healing.
The sensations associated with the emotional vibrancy of a heart still elude.
Yes, I live, but at times, it seems as if I am not living.
I'm just sitting here, wondering about these later chapters in my life. I wanted to believe, despite what I've been shown, that there are remaining pages in my book for You.
Is it fair to reserve those spaces for a warmth I'm uncertain will return to me? And, if it does, can it ever be the same? Or is it too scabbed with battle scars to be functional?
I'm not bitter. I am beside myself.
I look to outside examples for motivation. It has yet to move me enough.
I peek vicariously through others' experiences, but even some of them have lost faith.
How can a universal action and emotion be so elusive? Perhaps it's not really ... humans just make it complicated.
I still want You, but it may not be enough to change the repetitive outcome.
Years have gone by. My life is being shaped by all of these responsibilities. Striking the balance in who I have to be for others around me.
Can I be someone's beloved without the demand that I not be myself?
If that's the price, I cannot pay it again. It's too expensive; it's left me bankrupt.
I have to prepare myself to say goodbye if there is no You. I have to be brave enough to get on without You. To travel and create memories without You.
When you lose those closest to you, the ticking of the clock is louder.
If You do come by, then we can read this together. We can hold each other close before metaphorically making these words embers.
I have paused many lifetimes... waiting on You. Forgive me, it's become too heavy.
I have to lift this weight and be on my way.
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