the old-school guestbook archives
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the last heartbreak ~ August 16, 2007 - 11:23 p.m. I'm back. in so very many ways. I haven't even looked at this diary in so long, I'd practically forgotten that this is a thing that I do. and it's funny that the night I pick it up again, I look at the last entry I wrote, and it's about that series of strangely difficult nights I was having last spring. funny because my nights haven't tended towards the difficult in such a long time, but this one is being. earlier, it was a crazy aching restlessness I could not define, and now it's just this hollow place in my chest. it's a lonliness, and it has a name, her name. I'm waiting for her to call me back. she could tonight, or she could weeks from now, or she could never call me at all. I never know which of her moods she may be in. I'm trying to make time with her, the way I'm always trying to make time with her, the way I've been unable to make time with her for years. I feel like a light-absorbing object in her universe of stars, an onerous task left always undone, the priority so low it slides off the bottom of the list. but really, there's some resistance inside her, some place of hardness that clenches at her chest when she thinks of me and unmade phone calls. or this is how I imagine it. a dark, suffocating knot, an inability to breathe. and I thought we could heal that place in her, as well as the place in me that aches and tears when my heart reaches out and is met with silence. I believed we could, that extraordinary night last winter, when we wound our bodies together and talked all night long, talked until sunrise about love and hardness and resistance and the wounds of the past and love and us and love. she was in my arms and I saw something change in her face, a kind of lightness and wonder as she expressed a willingness to open to the possibilities, a desire to get to know who we both are now these many years down the road and be open to the possibilities of joy. and I'd dreamed of her opening in that way, but never dreamed I'd actually witness that moment, that light in her eyes as I held her in my arms. I don't need to be your partner, I told her, I just want a little more time with you. it's closing on nine months now since that phenomenal night, and I'm still waiting for a little more time. there's been beautiful moments here and there, but by and large she does not make room for me, except in the barest moments. I see her once every few months if I am lucky, with little or no communication in between. the last time we made plans for one-on-one time together, our day somehow got whittled down to a trip to the grocery store and a bowl of macaroni, before her girlfriend showed up. barely enough time to catch up socially, let alone to do the work or taste the joy of intimate connection. that was in february. and I was peaceful about the girlfriend coming over, because I enjoyed meeting and connecting with her, and I believed that she and I would get more time soon. I was wrong about that. she seeks me out when the band's in town, because I'm a comfort to the lonliness she feels around the fact that he's not our lover anymore. other than that, she does not seek me out, does not make time, does not have space in her world for me. she does call, from time to time, or send random texts, and I'm always happy and shiny for a bit when she does. but it still doesn't change the fact that we don't get enough time together to do the work of intimacy, to heal and reconnect and grow our connection. I came to a realization last spring, when I was working the strawberry music festival, a sweet and peaceful time. I realized that I'd been blaming myself for still being in such a wounded place with her, for not healing from the past to a point where an unreturned phone wouldn't make me ache the way they do. but how could I heal alone, without her? it takes time together and work to heal such things, and we've had precious little of either one. I came to clarity, too, about what I need in a lover. that I need someone who can give me just a little bit of their time and attention, even as little as once a month. who is present and willing with the work of healing, who has even a small amount of energy to give to tending the garden of our loving connection. who loves to spend time with me and joyfully makes space in their life and heart to do so. I realized then, that we needed some deep time together, some heart-connected talk about us and this connection. I asked her for it, told her it was important that we have some deep time together. but she's been moving, and traveling, and busy, and two and a half months later I am still waiting to have this conversation with her. the conversation where I ask if she even wants to be my lover, because it's not at all clear to me that she does. she may, in fact, have already made this decision long ago without letting me know. and if she doesn't, the answer is simple: letting it go. and if she does, by some delightful chance, want to continue to breathe light into the possibilities of joy, then I need to tell her what I need from that. some small corner of space in her life, some minimal amount of time and tenderness, mutual care and feeding of this garden we planted together eight years ago. and if she doesn't have it to give, we again come down to letting it go. and really, much as I would like to hold out hope for her still wanting to be my lover, my hope's worn rather thin and I've been letting go for months now. the new york deli owners of my heart are rolling down the security grates and locking them to the sidewalk. I'm blowing out the candle I leave on the windowsill of my soul so that she can always find her way back to me. the fact is that if she wanted to spend time with me, she would. if she wanted to talk to me, she'd call. if there weren't a thousand other things and people in her world more compelling to her than me, she wouldn't have such difficulty carving out a few hours to spend with me once every several months. we will always be deeply connected. I will always love her deeply, will always be her friend, be there for her when she wants me to. I'd give her anything I have to give. and I know we'll be connected for the rest of our lives and then some. but I can't keep holding space for her in my heart as a lover if she won't hold space for me in return. and as scary as it is, the idea of letting it go for the first time actually feels like a relief. this hasn't been working, living with this heartache of feeling uncared for, uncherished, unwanted. feeling myself as the lowest priority in her world and being grateful for what crumbs of her energy and attention were left over for me. I haven't been getting what I need, and so letting go is letting go of want and ache, tears shed in solitude and the deafening silence of a heart's calls unreturned. it's also letting go of the possibilities, and that is the part that breaks my heart the hardest. I have sensed more depth and possibilities for love and joy and growth and inspiration in our connection than I've felt with anyone else I've ever held in my arms. but I can't explore them alone, and so letting go means letting it all go. means moving on and finding new possibilities with people who joyfully make space for me in their lives. if and when we do talk, she may stop me. she could say wait, I want this, let's work on this together. but my hope, as I've mentioned, is worn down to a nub. I think she'll be sad, but relieved to be released of my wanting, to be unburdened of the obligation of my needs. I've been letting go for quite some time, and it's breaking my heart, but she's been breaking my heart over and over for years. at least this is the last heartbreak.
(((rings))) |