Some things . . . and more
I read it over and over again. This email entitled “Some things” whose line begins with “I have canceled our plane tickets.” I’m so broken; so hurt. So indescribably mournful. Today has been tough. I’m not allowed to cry now though. Last night, I went to bed feeling ok. I had spoken to him; he had tried to find me; to come to me; to hug me. He kept repeating “this isn’t right; it’s just not right.” And his text message said he had made a big mistake and that he knew it. But now. But now. I hear “I have canceled our plane tickets.” I hear “there’s just something missing” as his face draws in as he concentrates on rubbing his thumb with his forefingers. I suppose he did this for effect. To show me the spark that is missing. But all I felt was disbelief and then insurmountable grief. As I left, he came after me, but instead of asking me to stay to work through this, he tried to give me my blanket. He tried to erase me. He has been for some time. No more pictures of me anywhere. No more wearing that necklace that reminded him of 3 years of love and passion for me; of hopeless devotion; of unspeakable love and hope. no more. no more. Last night I thought he had come back but that I had to keep him at bay in order to give him space to heal and to come back to me. Today I recognize that the possibility of him never coming back is real. WHY I want to shout. Agony. Anguish and pain. The words themselves symbolize the feeling. Anguish with its tortuous pang and finalizing crush echoes through me. Agony, a rounded O-shaped horror, stifles all illusions that surrounded me. Crushed. Broken and fragmented. I do not desire to glue my pieces back together again. Each shard pulsates like a severed limb. I am not whole. But I can be. I can be whole again. The problem, of course, is that I don’t want to be. I’m not ready to let it all go; for now, I’ll continue to hold tightly to my grief stricken spasms; at least these remind me of what I have lost. Wallowing? I suppose, but I know no other way to hang on.
