Here I am again. Sitting on the the cusp of pain, anger, frustration and inadequacy. I always end up here when a lover leaves me. Splashing my feet in the water, letting the waves wash over my ankles. I find peace here. A much welcomed solitude that is equally freeing to my body and Spirit.
Last time I was here I stood atop this very rock and contemplated jumping head first into the ocean, with nothing but screams of 'why didn't they love me ?' echoing through my head to save me from myself. Wanting to let the waters consume me and transform me into a freedom I'd never felt before. A stillness I could not duplicate on this earth.
Or so I thought.
I pour another glass of red wine as I gaze at the sunset reflecting on the horizon and I am eerily still. I can still feel my heartbeat in my chest, my blood pulsing at my temples. I am still alive.
He walked away from me. Very similarly in how the one before him did. It was all good just a week ago. But life does strange things and in an instant his was flipped upside down... And now, as a result, mine has too. Life is funny, and fickle. I was brought to him out of nowhere, the purpose is still unclear. And I loved him. Freely, openly, genuinely. And he was open to it, but he didn't know what that meant or looked like from me, quite possibly from anyone. There's a laundry list full of reasons he gave me, and although valid, they aren't the root cause. Maybe he wasn't equipped to receive my brand of love, or didn't actually want it from me. Or maybe he wasn't as open to it as he truly thought. Maybe his wounds were deeper than either of us thought and I can't help him heal them if he's not actually in a place to do so. And instead of seeing me as a flashlight to help him navigate through the darkness in his life, he saw me as a flashing neon sign distracting him from the rubble he needed to clean up. Perception is a major player and no matter what I said I was, I cannot control what he saw me as. What I do know? I was willing and wanting to stand by his side in anyway possible and help him overcome these obstacles. To be the emotional support that he said he never had, to listen and be his soundboard even though he was miles away. But distance was our killer. Distance doesn't matter when people are truly open to each other if for no other reason than being open of what you truly need will close that gap.
Distance didn't kill us. Communication, or lack thereof, did. Avoiding issues pulled this in with the tide, turning into himself dragged us under. And not discussing how he really felt and what he really needed took our final breath.
I sit on this rock, finishing up the last of the wine as the sun completely sets and I'm covered in darkness. I don't feel empty or alone. I don't question what I did or what I didn't do. I don't feel that nagging 'what else could I have done' thing that hangs in the pit of my stomach. I wish he'd been more open about his needs before they consumed us, I wish he felt that we were important enough to save and throw a life preserver. But what I truly hope is that he learns how to swim for himself. I hope he sees in himself what I did and that he believes in it.
And on that day, maybe I'll see him on that other rock, sipping a beer and splashing his feet in the ocean, because he's realized it's OK to come down from the top.
