I don’t want to look inside of myself right now. If I opened the doors to my heart it would be so painful that I would collapse. The liquid pool of emotions would pour onto the floor and stain the carpet bright red. I woke up this morning believing that things could change. I was hopeful that I could glue the fragmented parts of me back together but even with all the self-actualization that I have gone through talking about myself, I still don’t have the adhesive to fix me. It’s a bad feeling to be broken and not have the means to repair yourself.
The day goes on and I believe things will improve. I am aware of the pain inside, I understand where it comes from: loss, grief, him, and him too. I will never know him, and I wanted to. I tried so hard to carry him but I couldn’t. It’s my fault, all of it, and he will never know who I am. We only spent those small moments together and then he was just gone. And the other “him,” that’s a different story. He’s still around, but I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. There was a time when he saw me, saw through me when he smiled it made my insides light up. If I saw those creases beside his eyes again, that would mean something to me. He will never read this. He won’t know that I am missing him, every moment, that I remember how he looks at me, that look is love. You can’t hide when you love someone. It’s there transparent on your face, in your being.
When the sun goes down, I am betrayed by the pool of overwhelming emotions. The doors swing open involuntarily and sadness and anger gush to the floor. I try to catch them in my hands but they slip through my fingers tricking me into believing there’s only a little of them. They won’t stop, and it hurts so much. I can’t talk or even breathe because they are pouring out of me. The sun is setting quickly and I don’t have a chance to catch myself. I look out the window and there he is, walking away. His back is toward me, and he doesn’t know that I’m watching him, I think. He’s walking slowly down the gravel path, slowly steadily, determined as if he knows where he’s going. All I know is that he’s going away from me. I don’t know if I’ll ever hold his hand again, and I can’t see through the tears. He’s on his way to wherever he’s going and one day soon I’ll be a distant memory because he said: “I don’t want to be with you.” Those words cut my insides and made it possible for the endless flow of emotions that happened next.
He’s on his way to Canada now. I told him about Vancouver and he said it sounded beautiful. Except that he’s going without me. The sun has set and I cannot see him any longer. I wonder if those creases still emerge when he smiles.
