Hello.
It’s been a while.
Although not that long.
And yet, so much has changed.
I apologize for the vague intro, I’m not exactly sure what I will be talking about in this post. Again, I fear, the point will have to come to me while I am writing.
A lot is changing right now.
I am recently single. For the first time in about a year and a half. Just shy of a year and 7 months.
I’ve been through my fair share of breakups. Good and bad. I remember, after one, I laid there-- 16, curled up at the end of my twin sized bed, sun beaming through the window, through the leaves of our lovers tree. And I wept. And I wept. And I thought to myself. There is no word to describe this, but sad. Pure sadness.
And I’ve asked myself, many, many times, over the years-- Does it ever get any better?
Is dating even worth it? If it hurts so badly when it ends?
I know when I love, that I love deeply. It takes a while to get there. A year, or so, maybe. (It used to be faster, but my youthful luster has begun to flee.) And that love never leaves. When you are given the keys, you trek dirt through the house. You make yourself at home. I welcome you. When you leave, perhaps the timber floors creak a bit more. Or the garden grows a bit greener. The fixtures on the kitchen drawers are loose. Or the shower still remembers the way you would sing.
And I wouldn’t change that for the world. Love is infinite. And I am grateful I have the privilege to share it. And to hold it.
This time hasn’t been so bad, so far.
I’m starting to believe that, maybe, it does get better.
Maturity, from both parties, helps. I’m sure.
I know I will continue to love him.
I know it because I love him. And I loved him.
Maybe it will hit me in a week. Or a month. And I’ll lay on the foot of my queen sized bed, light pouring in from an open sky, fist in my mouth, and weep.
But, for some reason, I think this time is different.
I am sad. Of course. (A tear rushed down my face this morning, thinking about it. I quickly fell back asleep.)
But I’m more so happy to have loved you.
If you ever read this.
Thank you, for giving me the opportunity to love you.
I learned a lot. You taught me so much about cooking, and how easy it can be to take care of yourself. How important it is to take care of yourself. Work-life balance (dos and don’ts that you learned the hard way.) How effortless it can feel, to love and be loved, sometimes. You reminded me just how open minded I really am. And that I’m funny. I fear I’ll think about you, standing in my apartment on the Inner Harbor, bending over gasping for breath. Begging me to stop. Laughing, laughing. Tears in both of our eyes. The first time. Forever.
I know there were reasons that we wouldn’t work out, long term. I’m sorry you had to be allergic to cats, and pollen. And that you didn’t really like animals too much. I’m sorry you’re so tied to the west coast, and I’m so tied to the east. I’m sorry you need more space. I’m sorry I need more attention. I’m sorry you’re so early in your career.
I hope your next job goes well. I'm SO fucking proud of you.
I hope you remember to take care of yourself. You can’t be great if you’re dead, you know. Heart palpitations can be avoided, actually.
Breathe deeply. It’s okay to cry, sometimes.
You are not a robot. You are a good person.
I know you loved me. I felt it.
I look forward to seeing your name on headlines. I’ll be proud to say I knew you.