I just want to crawl into a hole and die.
Which probably means that I’m in love with him.
It’s only my fault, really.
For once I thought I’d ignore that nagging voice inside my head.
That told me how risky it was.
To hang out with him.
To be intimate with him.
To share bits of my soul with him.
And to make the effort to get to know him.
I’ve no one to blame but me.
Because when his sad eyes told me that he couldn’t see me anymore, I felt my heart sink.
But I said nothing, just offered my unending support.
For once I’m not going to be selfish.
He is enduring the eye of his own storm.
Who am I to complain about how that affects me?
All I wanted was to be a light on his dark path.
To illuminate the right road for him.
Offer a helping hand, a gentle heart.
A passionate kiss…or a dozen.
A kind embrace. Understanding ears. Concerned eyes. Tender touch.
An empty hand to meet his empty hand.
A mirror to his once again vulnerable state. Matching his hesitance to trust
Yes, I knew all along how great the risk was.
But I shut that voice out.
Though it screamed at me.
Though it grew fists and pounded on my mental walls.
Started shaking the gates and trying to pry through my bars.
No, I listened to the gentle whisper of my heart.
That told me to let love in again.
And in doing so, I felt myself blossom.
I felt a beautiful reunion with parts of me long lost from when years ago there was a completely different him.
For that one, my mind did not protest.
And I dove in. All in.
And had to pull myself out of that ditch leaving bits and pieces of my flesh and blood and pain and tears behind.
This new him, he helped me to gather those bits up again.
But now I’ve got that familiar urge.
To run away and shut down.
To not look back.
No, I will not listen this time.
I will take everything I’ve gained from him and I will be grateful.
Go forth much stronger for having let him in so deeply as to kiss my bruised
heart, restore my wounded ego.
I will walk on with my head held high, with my love for him still radiating from my chest.
And just hope that somehow, it can help shine some light for him, that it can somehow pierce through his dark clouds.
And if he should emerge from the storm while I’m still around…
Well, I’m sure these arms will still be open.
Author: Chris Lacagnina
Editor: Renee Picard
Photo: georgios kaleadis at Flickr