What can I say of the tragedy that is love? Hi, it’s me again, and a hell of a lot has happened since my last personal post.
If you have never fallen out of love, let me tell you, if you could video tape your feelings and reverse them on a screen, you’d know exactly what it is. There is great and unbound love, oceans of it, frothy and enormous, dangerous and beautiful. Only instead of crashing onto shore, they recede, pulling the sand around your feet, making you itch to run back to the dry sand, fearful that the ocean might pull you back in once again.
I was pulled back in so many times, I thought for sure I would drown.
Suddenly you’re standing, and the ocean is far away, and you’re thinking, “of course I love you, don’t I? Aren’t you my only? Even through all the hurt and pain you’ve caused, I’ve caused, aren’t we okay? Won’t we always be?” And just like that, you’re your own island, and the ocean can’t touch you. Though it will always be there, you know, you feel that you will never enter it again. And that’s what it’s like to fall out of love.
I wanted to be with him forever. I was sure, like all girls entangled in the glory of first love, that I would marry him. That we could grow old together. It was beautiful, and I regret nothing. The fights that would leave me heaving, sobbing on the floor, the love that made me hold my heart, afraid it might beat too fast. The lonely, longing nights, the entangled legs, the rumpled sheets, the bitter words. What a symphony, what a wonderful tale we have made.
Oh, he is bitter. He hates me. But I did this for us. Despite the beauty of our romantic tale, it cannot be that we would find happiness and health in one another. And that is all I ever wanted for him. My first love, I wish you well. I wish nothing but good for you.
So much has happened, seemingly so fast, so quickly that it passed me by like a car on the nighttime freeway, whipping my hair about me, the lights blinding me only briefly, and then forgotten. In the past four months, I have been engaged, deserted, left, abused, taken advantage of. I have been selfish, abusive even, and I came to loathe myself, and him. Like I said, it was unhealthy. And so, without further adieu, I admit, I am finished with that part of my life. My Michigan escapades are complete. And I feel that way. I feel like it’s okay to close that door. I hurt, over and over and over trying not to give up, trying to give myself entirely, and it was never enough. I don’t blame him. I don’t hate him. I wish things could have been different. I wish we could have been okay. That noone had to hurt. That we could take all the pain and turn it into nothing but beauty, nothing but contentedness. But we couldn’t. And it’s okay. Sometimes it’s just okay.
And then suddenly, a wild love interest appeared. It seemed so quick, too quick, when I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved again. When I swore to hold off on the serious. But I’m a sucker for charm and intellect, and this one seems to be made purely of the stuff. He is kind, an arrogant philanthropist, an anti-hero, a nice guy with bad guy tendencies. And I like him. I was concerned of course, that he could be, for lack of a better term, a rebound, but I’m convinced he is not. I’m sure there is something magic about him, whether or not he knows it. I told him we could be from the same planet, both so odd and innovative. He’s a thinker, an explorer, and he shoots his ideas at me, bright as stars, and almost as mysterious. We smoke in his van and listen to Led Zeppelin We kiss, awkwardly, tenderly, and I’m all embarrassment. I’m smitten.
Can you imagine, though, the conflict in me, both wonderfully excited and nervous to have found someone to feel so, just real with, and terribly sorry to have had to give up on something that was once just as substantial and still as meaningful. It hurts. At once melancholy and joyous, I feel like mint tastes.
Still, and finally, I’m awfully excited for whatever happens next.