“I love her, and that’s the beginning and the end of everything.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
I don’t know how many times within one’s life we are supposed to fall in love.
I don’t know if we are even supposed to fall in love that deeply once.
I don’t even know if this was sane, healthy, or intelligent.
But it did happen to me.
And it took a bunch of years to recover.
I still don’t know how I did it.
How I coped.
I still don’t know why it hurt that much.
I remember that I healed through presence. Acknowledging that it was over.
I remember that I had to feel the loss and the longing and the ache fully to actually live again, breathe again, smile again.
I recall this time as a long, long voiceless tunnel.
At first, the hope that I still had for us to resume, carried me forward. You were my morning thoughts, my afternoon dreams, my evening prayers.
The trust that I still had, in you changing your mind, would lift me through the days as some colourful, Christmas, dreamy songs.
We were both the past and the future.
After a few months, I started to feel the opposite way.
Hope was destroying me.
Your silence was rose thorns.
Waiting was hell.
I had to let it go.
I had to let you go.
I have lived ages with you.
I have travelled under a thousand moonlights to be with you.
I have heard your voice everywhere. In the forest, in New York, in front of the temples.
You were the richness of my mind before you began to be its fall.
My heart was addicted to you.
You were strength when I needed courage.
You were my compass when I needed inspiration.
You were the example when I needed true north.
I understood something key about life with you.
The most joyful songs can become funeral notes.
Your words were the sun.
But it was an afternoon.
Sun, flowers, beautiful.
You were sitting there, and you left.
You left and you left two bottles of wine too.
You were leaving my life exactly as you came in.
Like a hard spirit’s breeze.
And I decided to let you go.
In truth, I can understand now.
I let you go because you did it first.
You had already erased us, wiped us away from the canvas of your cheerful thoughts.
I managed to tell you goodbye.
Only because, you were already gone:
We were already gone.
“All life is just the progression toward and then a recession from one phrase: I love you.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
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