I've got a good thirty-eight reflective minutes before I run.
Seems everything points towards partings lately, and I've gotten a little sad. Not in a bad way, per se, just in a way that allows me to feel what sometimes gets pushed underneath because I think it is inappropriate to be seeing someone that I like a whole lot while still trying to retrieve my heart from love gone awry. In a way I guess a part of my heart still belongs to the last man, and I haven't made a secret of that here, though I'd be hard-pressed to admit it anywhere else. Here is where I tell my secrets if you happen to be listening because I need someone who will listen that will understand. And I pretend you'll understand.
Last spring I boarded a plane from London to Charlotte to Kansas City, parting from someone I loved dearly, who was afraid to love me fully, to make what we had count in the way he promised. I say it not to criticize, but to say: This is how I felt, and feel, about it, and I will allow that he may think of it differently. Each of us will tell our own side of the story, and this is the way I'm telling mine. That the betrayal I felt when he wrote that last time is forgivable is a truth I'll tell you as well, but it still hurts like hell when the subject comes up in certain ways, and that last part is a truth that sometimes clouds over the other one.
At the time of that flight, I thought the parting was just temporary, just for a little while. I suppose that, though I am quite happy with what (who) I have in my life now, I still kind of wish that were true instead of what seems obvious, which is that he has proceeded with his life, and I with mine, and we will continue to exist in separate spheres of the same world.
And so. Last night my new love and I watched Garden State, and when it got to the part where Andrew is telling Sam about the ellipsis in the airport, and he's about to leave her to get on a plane and who knows if he'll follow through the way he should, my heart began sinking. He tells her that she's changed his life, and the familiarity of those words and of parting struck me with a deep ache I couldn't shake. My eyes got a little wet, but I didn't say anything, and I was kissed, I didn't say anything, and when we got ready for bed (because, yes, I stay there sometimes), I didn't say anything, because how do you tell the man who is adoring you right now that you miss someone else? You don't. At least, I don't. And so we got into bed and hung out for a bit, and then we settled in to try to sleep, and he asked me how I was. I paused for a long time, and as the tears started to well up, I finally admitted, "I'm a little sad." He asked why and I declined to say, and he held me gently and just let me cry, wiped the tears off my face and got me a tissue when I was ready for it. I offered brief explanation, not mentioning the other man directly, just something about recalling the pain of being left by someone. And then he held me tight, and it was a little gift to me.
I think about this relationship sometimes, and I don't know where it will go. I don't like to think about it, partly because my heart still hurts from the last time, and partly because I just can't. In this case, it is good to go slowly. I am not planning on going anywhere but forward, if that's a question in your mind. But I also leave it open for whatever might happen because I know what it feels like to make plans with someone and have them evaporate. I don't care to try to stand that again.
I often wonder what would happen, what I would say, what I would do, who I would choose, if old love came knocking. I doubt I'd be able to trust it. But this one, well, this one, at least for now, I can trust wholeheartedly.
So this morning I read some of Jason Mraz's journal entries that I'd missed. He's single again after having what seemed a blissful love with someone quite lovely. I felt sad for both of us. Feel sad for both of us. But more for him, maybe, because I have someone to hold me when I cry.
2006-02-28 - 12:22 p.m.
