Posts Tagged ‘Heartache’

Halfway Through

“I misss youuuu,” I whine as I roll over in my bed, sliding on my new red satin sheets that he finds ridiculous because I’m not a porn star and because sparks of static electricity dance on his long, leg hairs when he turns over.

“I know, I know,” he dismisses.

I know that he misses me too. I know that he knows he’ll be coming home in just under 2 weeks from now, but it still hurts to only speak to me for 10 minutes a day. I know this. I remind myself of this on an hourly basis some days.

Some days, I go 3 hours without thinking about him. I’m busy at work, or worrying about paying bills, or trying to conceive new creative ideas. And then it hits me again: he won’t be home for dinner tonight. You have no plans this weekend. Pick up his mail today. And then that “Oh yeah….” sigh comes over me, and I realize that he’s just not here.

And then I start to wonder if he is thinking the same thing- going through the motions of his day, wondering what he’s missing on my dinner table, how I’m wearing my hair today or if I’m sleeping well. I wonder if my face is slightly fading in his mind as he wakes up each day thousands of miles away from my porno sheets.

I’m in between ok and sadness which is a very strange place to be. I’m almost sad enough to cry, I’m almost ok enough to not write about him.

“I should let you get some rest,” I hesitantly say, knowing that he will agree with me and it will be another 24 hours before I talk to him again.

“Yeah. Busy day tomorrow,” he replies ready to hang up.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he says like I should have already known that.

We hang up. I wait to hear his hands shuffle to find the END button on the phone before I let my cell slide down my face to lie next to me, only to wake me up at 6:55 a.m. to start another day without him. It’s not as tragic as I write, really. Just a fact of life.


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About Love

Sometimes, OK no… Usually, lines in a movie or song or book are on my mind. Some people have the capacity to say it just right.

From Stardust (movie not book; although book was still better):

“You know when I said I knew little about love? That wasn’t true. I know a lot about love. I’ve seen it, centuries and centuries of it, and it was the only thing that made watching your world bearable. All those wars. Pain, lies, hate… It made me want to turn away and never look… again. But when I see the way that mankind loves… You could search to the furthest reaches of the universe and never find anything more beautiful. So yes, I know that love is unconditional. But I also know that it can be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable and strangely easy to mistake for loathing, and…. My heart… It feels like my chest can barely contain it. Like it’s trying to escape because it doesn’t belong to me anymore. It belongs to you. And if you wanted it, I’d wish for nothing in exchange – no gifts. No goods. No demonstrations of devotion. Nothing but knowing you loved me too. Just your heart, in exchange for mine.”

It is my wish that we all have the opportunity to love and be loved, like that, at least once.

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A Little Scar

“I’m indifferent at worst.”

Before the man I’m with now, I had “dated” a few other men. In my own wierd ways, I “fell” for them all. I attached myself to them, idealized them, forgave them for unforgivable acts, regretted everthing until they came crawling back and promised me the world, and after that, I regretted some more.

“I’m such a fucking idiot.”

There must be something wrong with that girl…you know…the one who deliberately sets herself up for more pain and more failure. I gave each and every one of these people a piece of me, and it never was once returned. Perhaps I’m stored atop some dustybookself, or worse, tucked away in some box underneath an old bed, long lost; forgotten.

Every storybook romance has a handsome prince and a beautiful princess who fall in love and live happily ever after. How does my story end when the beginning and middle is a bit tragic?

I suppose if I had to go through it all again, every last unreturned phone call, snide remark, heartless stare, I would because I’m with who I’m supposed to be with (at the very least for the time being). Kissing frogs is one thing, taking them home and denying the warts is another.

“So what, do you hate me or something? Why do you keep doing this to me?”

“Hate is a strong word. I’m indifferent at worst.”

The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. Thanks for refusing to let this scar heal. I wish I was tucked away in someone’s shoebox right about now.

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