Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Finding Forty, Day 35; Darkness

Gray, cloudy, still. The morning is calm and I'm barely up. I slept well last night, so much better than the sleep I was getting this time last summer.

This time last summer, I'd told A about S. We were in the midst of dealing with that maelstrom.

A was despondent while S and I tried to talk to figure out our next move, our plans for the future.

In my heart of hearts, I believed we were working collaboratively to figure out a way to be together. My remorse and pain for hurting A and eventually the kids was huge, but in my mind, the path to happiness and true love justified the hell I was putting everyone through.

What an awful, horrible person I was. Am. And how tragically wrong could I have been?

And yet, when I read S's words, written to me a year ago, maybe it's understandable how a lost soul like me would grasp onto whatever hope was offered.

One night, he wrote, "Darkness fell. Here I find myself again. Same as it ever was. Why is night so much harder?

I think it's because the darkness has a way of distilling feelings. Boiling them down to their base elements.

Tonight's boil has coalesced into the same thing it always does; I love you more than anything. I can't help it nor do I want to. You are the most special thing to me on this earth and I will not lose you.

You are my heart.

I love you,

Why can't I let that go? Why can't I see his actions rather than fixate on a love note written a year ago? In the end, he did lose me. Not only did he lose me, he gave me up. Willingly. If I was his heart, I am no longer.

And I don't know how to move on.

The darkness permeates still.


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