Finding Forty: Bubbles

I think I live in a bubble.  Self inflated, of course.  

It's finally dawning on me that A and I cannot be friends.  At least not yet.   We both need distance, space, time to let the oozing, raw wounds heal.   Time to sort our frazzled brains and pick up the pieces of our shattered hearts.

It makes sense that he would not want to see me or be around me.   And I feel selfish for letting that hurt my feelings.   I destroyed his.   The least I could do is give him some space.

When I'm in my bubble, I can pretend that life is nice and easy.  Things work out just fine.  My  happy ending is just a page or two away.

I've yet to watch a bubble float through the air and not burst.  Poof!  Gone.

I do miss him, though.   A.    I've dreamed about him the past two nights.  Sad, lonely dreams where I reach out to hug him or hold him and I'm met with cold indifference.    Do dreams really mean anything anyway?

In my waking hours, I think constantly of J, my new love.   The person whose friendship continues to deepen, whose love continues to grow.   I haven't written about him much because I cherish what we have and I don't want to jump the gun.   I don't want to be the way I was about S-impetuous, foolish, ridiculous.    I want to know.  I want to be careful.  I want the roots to be firmly planted, solid and strong.

I also want to continue to work on me.  Just being me.  Being alone.  Learning to love myself and be okay with where I am.   I honestly feel like I'm doing better with that.

I'd like to think I've learned from my mistakes.   I'd like to know that there are more to make, but that life is full of doing and being and learning and forgiveness.

I hope A feels that same way.