16 posts tagged “relationships”

Humans are scary.

Jason said it here. To me, it sums up the basic social interaction debacle many of us are faced with when trying to sincerely and deeply relate to each other. It's the reason some of us feel like we've been holding out our hand in the darkness waiting for the brave soul we desire most to take it...and the reason many of those desired souls seem to do anything but reach back.

Sometimes the most frightening things in the world, are the things we desire more than anything. The more we long for them it seems the more elusive they become. Same works for people, I suspect. The more we rest the very root of our happiness, peace and fulfillment on them, the more they...well, they freak the hell out. There's a lot at stake in loving ourselves, and loving someone else.

I mentioned in my reply to Adrienne this morning, that I can honestly say everything I've ever wanted, I've received. I don't say that with any air of supremacy like I've cracked some magic code. Hell, anything but. I think Life and God, or the Universe or whatever you call that force that shapes and guides our existence is out there listening to every thing we express. Every positive and every negative. Not just what we say out loud we want, but what we silently express we feel we deserve. Sometimes those are two separate and distinct things. And we're more inclined to get what we believe we deserve, rather than what we say we desire. And there's nothing more terrifying than getting what you (truly and honestly) believe you deserve.

Some of the things I've expressed (either in action or my own embittered disappointment) have come to me as clearly as any good thing I've ever wished for myself. It's what we do with the wishes granted, that truly define our existence. And, you know what Adrienne, you're right. People ARE impatient. Chalk me up as one of those impatient people, shaking my fist from time to time at a sky that dares warm my face with sunshine. I have things I have deeply desired, for years. And in all this time, some of those deepest desires have yet to be fulfilled. I'm 35. I'm not married. I have no children. And yet, there are many desires that have been granted beyond my wildest dreams. They didn't come overnight. They came at the price of plenty of long scary days and terrifying nights. But here was the primary difference between the wishes granted and the personal ones yet to come:

I was ready for some. Not ready for all. There's something I believe that must accompany any desire. And it's readiness for the arrival. Sometimes, we think we're ready, we feel we're ready...but for reasons buried deeply within our subconscious, or even in the greater world around us...it simply is not time. I think my desires granted have come because a) I never stopped believing I could achieve them, b) I was willing to endure the creepy moments never doubting for one moment that they would come, and c) I knew clearly what they were to begin with.

If I would dare try and assign a logic to things spiritual, I would say that's the key to the manifestation of things desired in our lives. Stepping away from the theories of The Secret and other personal manifestation theories, I do believe there is a quiet equation to things coming to us. There is a spiritual "resonance" we have to project, that alerts the powers that be to our readiness. Or if you want to look at it from a more secular standpoint...circumstances have to be right for your desires to come to you. And you have to be willing to hang out for a minute because life doesn't always work on our watch.

You might be ready for love, but sometimes that love ain't ready for you. Sometimes that love needs to experience some things to make it ready for you. Sometimes you have to experience somethings to increase your readiness for it. Sometimes we aren't as sure as we adamantly state we are. And sometimes...we just don't believe it's possible.

I've had a long standing desire for that love that endures all things, for that curly haired big eyed boy sleeping contently on his father's chest - an image that's haunted my dreams for more years than you would even believe if I told you. But there have been many times I thought myself unworthy of it...and that's probably chased it away. There have been times when in fear, I clasped and grabbed and tugged and pulled and pushed to "make it ready" for me...and that probably chased it away too. Finally, there have been times when like it or not, that desire has its own cooking to do, to be ready for me. I can't possibly control all those elements, nor is it my ability to "see" all the curves and bends my road is to take. What I can do, is learn whatever I need to learn, find patience where there is none, live with an understanding that I can't possibly control anything but my own optimism, or pessimism and willingness to extend my hand knowing that all wishes, in their own way and in their own time, are granted.

Maybe that makes me a dreamer. And, dreaming itself, can be scary. But I'm alright with that. Because it's better than trying to live this life without it.

Life can just seem to turn on a dime, can't it?

I'm rarely at a loss for words (though some would say I need to be), and yet in this time I find myself strangely silent. Not sure what to say. Not sure what to stir up, and what to leave undisturbed.

In the past, I've struggled with living in the moment. As soon as I feel some great surge of pleasure or pain, I go to an extreme -  assuming the pain will last eternally or the joy will be swiftly followed by disaster. I realize now that that's partially because of the ride I've chosen to take. The choices I've made. The perceptions I've had about others and the deeper beliefs I've fostered about myself. Calamity is often designed, as we move through our lives quietly gravitating to the very things we say we want the least.

At some point, we find our rhythm. Running too fast or too slow, trying to mimic others and their cadence, at some point...we find a stride. There's no rulebook for it either, experience is the only navigational system or dance instructor you'll ever be given. I suspect it happens when we stop giving too much energy to sorting it out. Some call it, relaxing. Others call it no longer giving a damn. Whatever you call it, it seems once you get to that point, something clicks. Things fall into place. As if the Universe had been watching over your head and waiting for you to stop...well...stop getting in your own way.

I wasn't looking for anything. Sounds like a lyric to one too many songs, but honestly. I wasn't. I just wanted some peace of mind. One afternoon, for some reason, I decided I would build what I thought I wanted for myself in companionship at this moment in my life. And so I went about building him. First using abstract tools. Broad based themes around things like integrity, character, personality traits and such. And then I decided to add more detail. I tried to draw him in my mind. So that I could see him.  I described what he would look like. I listed a height, I listed features. I even tried to find a way to describe his voice. I gave him civic responsibility and a host of other things I always admired and simply...things that made me feel warm. And good.

When I was finished, I had three pages of person prototype. As I read it back, I found how much of what I used to value, was no longer there. Some things, (like my height stipulation) remained.  But I replaced some frivolous things like deep dark mysteries and complications that always seem more fluid and rewarding in movies than in reality, with tangible things that make me feel safe, warm and...well...loved. Not just in thought, not just in words, but in action. When I read through that prototype I realized just how far my life has carried me in the past five years.

I took those pages, ripped them up into tiny pieces and placed them in a heavy, flame friendly bowl. I  lit a match. I dropped it in with a few bits of dried sage and set the bowl in my fireplace. Ever noticed how sweet burning paper smells? When there was nothing left but ash and thoughts of everything that's brought me from then to now...I felt no remorse. No anger. No resentment. I just felt free. I waited for the bowl to cool, then once the sun set and the evening sky gave me clearance to wish, I did. I tossed those ashes into a swirling breeze.

It certainly was no magic elixir. I didn't wake the next day and find Mr. Perfect lying in bed beside me. In fact, I woke with the same fragments of melancholy and fears of the unknown. I just decided that none of those things were bigger than my ability to endure those moments until they became something else. I also decided that loving me, absolute - good, bad and ugly would be infinitely more fulfilling than finding my love through another's eyes.

And then, *poof* a month or so later, I find myself having a random conversation with what I thought was a random person. A random person who had the voice I described. The manner I intimated.  The character I painted. Eyes I know. The height I requested. The face I designed. The heart I felt might be best designed to nurture mine. At least, at a glance and as much as one could assume in a random encounter.

That was the first week of October.

I've been keeping secrets. But that's mostly because there's just not that much to tell. Nothing much that would mean much to anyone but he and I.

It's December now. I find myself anxious for the time we reserve for each other. He is comfortable. And reliable. Stronger than me, in all the ways I've always wanted. He is consistent and certain and steady and sure. And in my life where I'm everyone's keystone at some point or another, he is there at the close of each day...wanting only my hand. He is there like grandfather's chair, waiting for me to take off my hard hat and climb out of my shell and into him. I suppose he needed that as much as I did. To be seen. I imagine that's what any of us want, once we stop paying so much attention to everything else.

I just know its foreign. Being so warmed and so content with things I never knew even mattered to me.

I just know better than to make it anything else other than what it is, in this very moment and not what it should/could/may be, weeks and months from now.

I just know patience.

I just know that every little thing in this life, happens for a very important reason and we have to do little else but trust in that.

I just know that you really don't ever have to push. Not as much as we actually, do.

I just know this crush feels like the healthiest one I've ever had.

I just know for whatever purpose, he is here. And I like that.

Alternative titles for this post were:

Anywhere, But Here.
One Flew Out of the Cuckoo's Nest.
or
Once Upon A Time in Austin.

Somehow...Sanity won out. Let's hope that starts a trend.

My mother as we speak is driving across the country with her husband and her brother in tow. She's moving to her new home in...Texas. You might recall I moved to Austin nearly three years ago chasing a dream and running from my own demons. I learned in this time, two invaluable lessons. Sometimes chasing dreams shifts them further away, and demons know no state lines. The remedy for both is the same. Acceptance, faith and a good dose of patience with the world and most importantly, with yourself.

Mom finds her way on this odyssey for reasons that are completely different and yet painfully similar. Chasing dreams and running from problems that will lie in wait and show up on her doorstep one morning when she goes to fetch the morning paper. I watch and wish for all good things for her, knowing I cannot chart her course anymore than she can. I know better than to believe I can control too much more than my bladder or my choices. She will inevitably find out the same. Or at least...that is my hope for her. I hope she opens her arms to the adventure. That part I know is key.

I was fiercely opposed to this at first. Her decision to move felt oppressive at best. I assumed that the shackles of being a keystone for an entire family would soon be clasped firmly around my wrists and ankles, placing limits on my choices and a pricetag on my freedom. A few loving souls had to remind me of my own emancipation. It took me decades to find my voice, and now that I've found it, I find it incredibly difficult to silence. That means more intimate connections but it also means more biting disagreements. I've always been headstrong, but now the people around me know precisely what's moving behind my eyes and within my chest. And sometimes...they don't care to know. Mom, especially.

I cannot stuff myself back into the box of obedient child. She continues to search for new ways to make me fit. Somehow...in the midst of this shoving, pulling, tugging and smashing there is a love and bind that both maddens and softens me. What drives me most crazy about my mother, I often see in myself, things I wish weren't there. My mother sees something in me she's never been able to find in herself. I think she finds that both inspiring and frightening. We attract and repel like magnets. From time to time, when we're open and not struggling so much, we manage to love the hell out of each other. Those are the moments I try to retain.

There will be good. There will be bad. The trick I suppose will be not to get too blindsided by either one, because that's the nature of evolution.

Welcome to Texas, Mom.

Love,

RPM

"We're gonna be alright."

He could have been saying it to himself for assurance as much as he said it to me. Only he knows for sure if he ever meant it or if it was something he made up to fill the empty air as we stared at a freshly painted ceiling.

Sex wasn't as it used to be, carefree and lingering with conversations that would roll well into morning. Everything was rushed these days, no time was ever going to be enough and there were all these bothersome questions and god-damned ramifications to ponder. Even if I didn't speak them out loud, his random blurted assurances into evening air made it clear just how uncertain the ground in which we lay on truly became.

I could feel conflict in his embrace. Pull me tighter, become aware of clinging, release. Repeat. Quick, eye avoidant kisses and squeezes before departure had now turned into awkward pendulums where he would try to reconcile his coming and going in a matter of seconds. Four, five, six hugs before he could make it out the door, each one longer than the one before it. As if he thought he might never return. Kisses on my forehead, heavy sighs in my ear pungent with the odor of despair. Careful, screened gazes with cautious, slitted eyes trying to study me without being seen. I have to leave, he'd say.  How he could be so absurdly tender and so intimately challenged still boggles my mind.

He would think up additional things to say as he made it to the door, additional justifications to stay; I never bothered to argue. I grew silent once I realized his tug of war was not with me. It was with himself. The part that wanted to stay with me for always, and the other part that thought he didn't belong in that space. Three steps forward, two steps back. I learned to dance following him, never bothering to collect him in the way I intuitively knew I could have - had I been more polished.

I never wanted to force him. I wanted him to be in this space because he wanted it. He wanted me. All he had to do was search my eyes for words I would not say. He might be sitting somewhere, saying the very same thing. I never liked the sensation of being forced, neither did he. We both reacted aggressively to being told what to do, ironically I was the only one who could instruct him...and he, the only one to this day, that's ever been able to instruct me.

I would remain silent during his cha-cha'd exit. I would close the door after his departure. I would put my forehead against the foyer wall and feel the last strains of his imprint on my skin dissolve into thin air. On both sides of our universe, we'd both sigh under the weight of insurmountable fears. We are in many ways a carbon imprint of each other. His challenges, my own.  Indecisiveness. Suppressed worry. An overactive sense of responsibility. Self-righteous arrogance that prohibits us both from ever receiving well-intended advice the appropriate way. Fear of being left behind. Wells of untapped anger. A purposeful detachment from the world with the belief that we must never, never, never allow anyone completely inside of us. The ability to lie with the most well meaning intentions. The sensation of never truly being seen, until we saw each other. Perhaps these are the reasons I still react so fiercely to anyone who utters a negative word about him. It feels like they are speaking disparagingly of me.

He would go away that night, ensnared in the prison of his own fears and history. But he would return. It's been our secret, silent understanding that he will always return. And so has been the cycle of our education in love.

"We're gonna be alright."

A woman's heart is a vessel of secrets, my grandmother once said. I can see now exactly what she meant.

I have trouble sitting still.

When I wake in the morning, before I can do anything, I turn on the television. It's usually to protect myself from the thoughts that swam in my head to wake me up at the same hour and minute each morning.

I wake to the sound of his voice. Telling me things I already know. Whispering concepts my heart can grasp but my mind seeks to pick apart like separating chicken from the bone. It all begins to feel like its too much for me to comprehend and so I get up, feed the dog and turn on the distractions.

Still, there is all this content stirring beneath the surface.

If one were to read my journal, I would suppose they would think I was insane. It's page after page of the same topics. The same situations, through a variety of filtered lenses, each one making the image either more clear or impossibly fuzzy. My mind is my spirits Opthamologist, struggling to come up with a prescription that's going to give me the ultimate clarity.

Clarity shifts constantly. I hope that Opthamologist has the patience of Job.

This morning I sit in quiet, allowing all those swarms of incongruent thoughts to battle away at each other. I sit and wait for the ones demanding attention to swim to the surface. I grasp them and try to give them their proper audience to make the determination if they are good, or rubbish.

I received an absolute God-send this week.  A random IM from someone I consider a gift. A voxer. And I keep this person anonymous for now because I didn't ask for permission to quote. I paraphrase with hopes they view this as a thank you. During a moment of squirming, this person told me not to take any grand action. To resist the temptation to take grandiose steps in an attempt to "heal something" or to "show progression" in my life. This person assured me that right now, in this space with all my questions and all my squirming, was as beautiful a place as there ever has been. It's the space where knowing is born. And there is no reason to fear...knowing.

I have been trying to put myself back in the 'dating' waters. But I have had great anxiety about it. Why? Because my mind is full and my heart is extremely wary. I asked my sister to describe me earlier, and she said I was someone who was wary, distant and hesitant to open until I know intuitively that it's "safe." So funny that I can bare myself in this space, and yet be so cryptic in others.

As I have different people respond to my profile, I've had some nibblers that I decided to initiate correspondance with. You've seen my questions, so you can see just how much I want to know. Catch 22 is...some people have the same reservations that I do. They are hanging back, offering trite conversational exchanges without truly giving of themselves. Toe-dipping. Just like me.

I squirm when I'm not being honest. With others. With myself. I am in the dating world...but I'm not yet of a mind to date as much as I am, study and eventually make new friends. I don't have this huge desire to go out in a blaze of flowers and romantic dinners and whispered suggestions in my ear. They strike a panic in me. I am not ready to be opened yet, and certainly not just by anyone. I want intimacy that does not come with expectations attached. Like...how soon will we be fucking. Maybe it's the type I draw...but it all seems to be a race to that. Fast talk, fast chat, motorized conversations designed to get us in a one on one personal space to delve into the physical embodiment of me.

I have my reasons for hesitation. I am a package deal. I respect those who aren't, and frankly I think they have more fun. But I squirm when I try to be anything other than who I am. A woman who's heart is tied directly to what's between her thighs and the pillows nestled in her bra. I am all...the same woman. And I can't give access to the physical embodiment of her, until the emotional/spiritual/mental part of her is truly sated and knowing that this person has the capacity to give, and love, and see and be with the same voracity. It doesn't take long, I know fairly quickly what most folks are made of. I feel it, deep with in me.

Relax. I've been told. Don't take yourself so seriously, I've been advised. Don't think so much. Funny...thinking actually has very little to do with it. For me. It's that sense. The gathering of something in the small of my belly. I reach for sincerity. Depth. Patience. Emotional maturity. A knowing that permeates chatter. I have tasted that sort of connection before. Beyond sight and sound and very easy to detect. This is the sense I use. I will give others the opportunity to show me what they're made of. And I suppose part of my struggle has always been trusting that what I sense, it real to me - and a justifiable reason to sit back for a moment, and quietly observe what others are trying to say.

There are somethings I experience with immeasurable intensity. And there's no sense squirming about that. It is merely who I am.

From Patty

What's are the best questions to ask a prospective date?
You know, the ones that get right to the heart of why you would or would not want to date the person? The questions that make people open up and reveal the things that show you if they get a check mark on either your list of "must haves" or your list "deal breakers."

Interesting question. Especially since my sister did an expert job of describing me as distant and cautious until I get a sense for what a person is truly about. As much as I am trying to tone down my “serious” approach to getting to the bottom line...I also tend to be careful with me. I have a lot to give and there is a lot to be taken...so I don’t tend to wade through the water until my intuition lets me know he isn’t a psycho basket case on acid. (Not literally)

I jokingly told Jason yesterday about my tendency to be drawn to the questionables. I wasn't dishonest, either. Had a troubled past? Do you potentially strike fear in the hearts of common man with a demeanor that exudes a genuine “don’t *uck with me” approach to life? (And I mean a genuine demeanor, not that fake ass I think I’m tough because I can scowl and use cool lingo, I’m talking... “I’ve seen some things” demeanor) Do you have a highly philosophical nature and a penchant for mischief with the ability to discuss it intellectually? Are you built like you’re an extra from 300? Does your reading list shock people because they were SURE you didn’t read? Can you kill a bear and cuddle a baby? Step right up. I’ve probably dated you.

I’m not sure how much of that I’m ready to change (lmao). So...my questions typically are:

1. Do you think you’ve had a life defining moment? If so, what was it and what did it show you?
2. What does your best friend/closest family member think is your worst habit? What do you think is theirs?
3. It’s a Saturday night, and you can do anything in the world you want to do. What would you choose?
4. Tell me about the funniest encounter you ever had with a child.
5. How would you describe yourself spiritually?
6. (my all time favorite and a real “eye-opener”) If you had to pick a movie to describe yourself...which movie would you choose?
7. Unexpected company drops by. Is your place neat but lived in, or “under construction?”
8. In a disagreement, what’s the biggest priority? Mutual understanding, resolution, acceptance or identifying issue?
9. What are you passionate about?
10. What are you most afraid of?

...what the hell am I looking for, anyway?

I was catching up with NYCinephile yesterday, and during our conversation I was telling him about some of the strides (or slips and tumbles) I've been making in the area of dating.

Dating while recovering. I suppose we're all doing that, those of us that carry the title "single" in our social profiles. Well, maybe some of us are all healed up, shiny and new with all the answers to life...but I suspect the bulk of us are somehow, someway trying to get over something. Even if that something is as simple as our own fears.

I was telling him about SC, a guy I've been talking to for a few months now. Out of the "bites" I've received over the past few months, his is the one that has lingered best to date. Of course, he's also the one who bites from the farthest distance. In my chat with NyCine, I was trying to make heads or tails of our interactions. What's fair? What's proper discloure? What if I don't know where I'm going right now? What if? What if? What if? What if this interaction is really just distraction? 

NYCine, in his typical brilliant fashion, makes the complicated painfully simple.

"What if it is?"

I sat there, stupefied. Exactly. What if it is? Where's the damned crime in that? And that was a deeper question that I've been struggling with. In an effort to make everything significant, I've been hesitant to do anything. That includes just...living. I have this habit of wanting everything to have a point. To have some sort of deeper meaning. And therein lies the source of my great angst.

There is something to be said for allowing yourself to exist in the space you are in. To experience all that the world is trying to show you. To, as GinBaby reminded me...flow like water.

Yeah, I have no clue what the hell is going to happen from this day to the next. But I do know it's time to stop fighting the current. Thanks NyCine. We always get what we need, don't we? Funny how we always get what we need.

Note: I tried to add an audio track to this, and it's hanging. So...if you haven't heard him yet...give James Morrison a listen. I'll post some tracks later.

How are you with expiration dates?

Do you honor them faithfully? Do you think you have some nutritional wiggle room? Life is rife with irony, isn't it? I will not hesitate to dispose of food items that are given a life expectancy time stamp. I won't take the risk that something is not going to harm me. I assume if I dare eat beyond that date, any sickness is on me.

Why don't our relationships come with that same warning stamp?

• This friendship is perishable. Please enjoy by 1/31/09.
• Boss love will expire on 12/15/12
• For best results, terminate relationship by 8/01/08

Think about how much simpler things would be if upon meeting someone, you could fold back their collar and determine just how long they'll be good for you.

Question is...would you honor it if you knew it?

I suppose people do come with expiration "flags." Signs and behaviors that feel familiar in either positive or negative ways. Perhaps the best way to determine suspected shelf life, is to watch carefully...note carefully what feelings you feel, when you've felt them before and what they wound up revealing in time. A severe stomach cramp? Maybe a warm full, happy sensation of fullness? Sometimes it is you, sometimes it is them...but the fact that you are reminded is what's most relevant.

02 History Repeating

Shirley Bassey

Perhaps the closest thing to an expiration date we were given, is our own sense of history. When something feels like you've done it before (and it didn't go well the last time), perhaps that's all the expiration date you need.

I think I've done all the history repeating I want to do. Best be sure, in all my interactions, I'll be mindful of the expiration date from here on out.

So I asked for it with Anatomy of a Shirt. Remember?

Found his workshirt, and it started me on a journey of brief reflection. Oh the things we say, that we never say. I put

Take the high road

And so the consumption always begins. I get lost in the sauce. And I realize how much time has passed since I've read an email, received an IM, a text message. The phone rang on Thanksgiving, but I didn't have the courage to answer the phone, nor the stomach to hear the same old script.

And so I was sitting with this shirt, wondering basic things like..."is he okay?," and "how did his father's surgery turn out?," and "I really hope he's doing well." But then of course if I'm to be really honest, all that translates into, "is he over me?" Because that's what all those cleverly worded questions are really about now aren't they?

Call me crazy (and rest assured, others have)...but I believe there are some connections you make throughout your life that are soul connections. That is not to say that each soul connection is a good, or happy-ending one, but they do exist. More importantly, I believe they are here not only to serve as relationships, or to bring love but to also teach lessons. The lessons are required for reasons we may never understand.

Peek a boo, I always saw you.

I'm no more over him, then he is over me. All we've done is make a concession that for a variety of reasons, both fair and unfair, right and dysfunctional...we cannot be anything more than this. Lovers wearing the masks of those unable to love. Perhaps hating would make it easier. But then, I've never been concerned about easy. I've been far more preoccupied with what feels right. And I know better. Better than to make either of us a victim. Better than to have what I feel classified away by anyone who hasn't walked the path that he and I have. We know each other, far too well. We practice bi-level conversations. And never the two streams shall meet.

I sent up the silent cry after finding that shirt. Where are you? I'm afraid. I don't know where you are. Can you hear me? The next day, amid a busy work day, my phone rings and it's him. I'm right here. I'm never too far off. I hear you. And that bi-level conversation goes a little something like this:

Me: Hi
Thank God.
Him: Hey Kiddo. How you doing?
You answered the phone. Thank God.
Me: I'm good. How are you?
I've been worried, I was afraid you totally disappeared. I'm not ready for that. I miss you.
Him: I'm alright. Been working double shifts. Started a new job.
I might slip off the screen, but I never disappear. You know I never would. I know you worry.
Me: How was your Dad's surgery?
Are you working on that relationship with him?
Him: He's doing alright. You know how he is. I told him he comes up with a new way to get attention every year. Did your Dad have his surgery yet?
Yes. I'm working on it. We're speaking. Don't worry. What about you? You working on yours?
Me: Not yet. I'll be flying home to take care of him.
Him: People make such a big ordeal out of little stuff. Spending so much time going over little stuff.
Me: Well I did that with my surgery, and  sometimes I think people do that because they're afraid.
Is that what you think of me? Do I make ordeals out of little things?
Him: Your surgery was a major thing, _____. Doesn't even apply. That was a real crisis.
Don't think I ever thought that was insignificant. I know what that surgery meant, and still does.

He tells me of a person at his job with a similar personal situation that reminded him of where he was a year ago. It begins a random scattered conversation about lessons learned, issues and how they always seems to resurface. Regrets. Translated...I hear...

I'm frustrated. I don't understand why I made some of the choices I did. Don't know how to prevent from making them again. I don't want to hurt you. Don't want you to go away either. Because you never know...one day perhaps all the pieces will fit together. Maybe one day I'll have answers for the questions that haunt me. But I have no way of knowing that for sure. Until then...there's pieces of me you can't fix. It's up to me.

This time, I didn't offer okays. I didn't say, "Hey it's alright. You did your best." Because he didn't. And we both know that. But I did let him talk, free of override.

Him: Hey, my break is over, I have to head back in. But you were on my mind. (trails off)
I miss you.
Me: I'm glad you found another job. Sorry they're working you so hard. You take care.
I miss you too.
Him: I'll talk to you later. Shoot me an email, alright?
Answer your phones when I call, would you?
Me: Sure. I'll talk to you later.
I'll try.

And I do try. I try to forget. I try to remember. I try to let go. I try to hold on. I try to push time forward and I try to make it stand still.  And I manage to do each of those things, on repeat. Everyday. And those are the pieces of me, that he can't fix.

Holding it....