2004-01-25|3:35 a.m.
Loving someone when you cannot share it with them is a really hard thing to deal with. Many an hour spent crying, many a word abused, and all in the honor of such feelings.
I�ve been dreaming of Abe.
It was easier when I only thought of him. It would crash upon my mind often, but I could sleep, dance, drink, or think it away with other thoughts. Even if the pain lingers like a dull ache, there is always something else that can drown out thoughts that hurt you.
But dreaming is another thing altogether. Dreaming possesses you like a moving car. You can�t really jump out of it. You just go with it and bare the pain that it brings.
I loved this person the very moment I met him and I haven�t stopped for six years. And suddenly, it is as if he stopped caring at all for me. He is or was often callous and seldom kind when dealing with our separation. He has the sort of gentleness that is recklessly mean. I�d rather cruelty from him. Cruelty can and will bare a breakage I can comprehend. Kindness without sincerity or compassion is devastatingly addictive and altogether destructive to someone like me.
Even worse still is that I haven�t heard from his mother. I know he�s already told his skewed versions of our story to other friends we shared and I can imagine what she�s been told. It hurts to think I lost a family that very much felt like my own.
Love, love, love.
Tonight, I watched Cold Mountain. It let me cry. For more than the love story it was a pretty good film and for the love story it was almost too much for me. I kept thinking how much it felt applicable. Her pain, her missing, her devotion were all similar in note. Only one thing different�he wanted to return to her. Not so in my story.
Sometimes, I almost feel bitter. But I stop. I don�t want to be bitter and I really don�t want to be angry. So, those feelings come, but I let them pass. I think it means it will take me much longer to heal because of it. But I would rather it that way than to take the chance to rot. I don�t want to decay from my insides. I will opt instead for feeling like flotsam of a shipwreck�scattered and lost.
I hate how acute the pain can feel sometimes.
I let myself love him like he would be the person I would spend the rest of my life with. That�s a dangerous opening up a person can do. But it really wasn�t a choice. It just sort of happened. We will both grow old, but not with each other. It hurts so much that I am glad I have no words for it. I�d not want to share it.
Sometimes I think of my heartbreak like pulling a tree from the ground. Some of the roots are detached and left burrowed in the ground. Some of the roots are pulled up and leave vein-like holes in the soil it once dug through. And ultimately, it leaves a gaping hole. I am not good with my hole in my chest. I keep thinking I need to plant something new in its place. But then when I start to, I have reservations. It feels wrong? It feels scary? Why does it feel like I am betraying my love for him? There is nothing left to honor. He doesn�t want me in his life. I have to just accept that it is over. Do I just need time alone? Will the place where the tree once grew heal over? Readers may write to tell me yes. But I cannot help but think that they�re right, but just not about this. Other people can just get over this. But this for me was more.
I am wrong, huh? Young and foolish? In a lot of ways, I wish for that. Being wrong is the best case scenario.
Six years. Six very formative years. And you just tell me one day that it is over for good.