This life suddenly seems extremely unfair. Drained of all possibility, drained of all opportunity. I’m trying to keep my head above water but the weight of my feet keep dragging me down. I’m fighting. Fighting for the dreams I have, the goals I’ve made, the person I want to be. I’m fighting but I’m still drowning. I’m spinning deeper and deeper into the darkness I’ve grown so used to it looks like light.
If drowning wasn’t enough company, missing is not far behind.
Missing him, missing love, missing us. I picture us that first night. It was dark and chilly, an early summer night. I sat in my car in the dark, something like the waves I’m traveling among now, and I waited for him. I waited and then he was there, in front of me, offering his comfort. He made me smile, he always made me smile just as much as he made me cry. I was so hesitant then. So afraid of opening up my heart, so afraid of shattering. But he was there and he said, “All week you’ve been unhappy and you’re with me for five minutes and your smiling”.
I never looked back, not even half way around.
I gave him my heart, I trusted him, I hated him, I loved him. I handed over every part of me I never thought I would. And then four years later…I shattered. I stumbled and tripped and cursed myself for being so foolish. I was floating in the water and suddenly I was drowning. Drowning in a love I never had, drowning in a summer fling gone on too long, drowning in a determination to fix him. To make things better, so we could better. I lost myself in the shadows of who I was with him. It took a year to let it go. It took a year without seeing him at all, not hearing his voice. It took a year for him to show up in a parking lot on a Friday morning 5 Junes later.
Standing in front of me…this boy, this man I gave my heart over too. This man I loved so fiercely it hurt to breath. This man I finally let go after one full year. He stood in front of me in the sunny morning light, he called me by my nickname, he asked me about life, as if I saw him only the day before. And then I saw him again a month later and then a week after that. But here’s the thing….he was my story for 4 years.
4 years. And then he was my past. He is my past. That chapter has ended and although I have days I can still feel his hand holding mine, or I see his truck on the road, or I wish for just one more day…that story is over.
The weight in my feet suddenly feels lighter and I focus on reaching the surface.