A friend of mine called to tell me that she bumped into my ex and as they chatted, she couldn’t help noticing how much he and I resemble each other. She was happy to report that the guy was still single and that he asked about me. I of course listened and gave her my well-rehearsed speech about being too busy chasing paper to think about him. She sounded sad and told me not to worry, she hopes that my ex and I would find a way to make up and if that doesn’t happen, she knows that I will met someone else to share what said ex and I shared if not more. I quickly hang up to you know, get back to paper chasing. That got me thinking though.
I hope I never get back together with that man and I pray to God that I never love anyone as much as I loved him. I am not skeptical about Love, I know that I was put into this world to love, but if I never feel that way again, I will be content. That man was my best friend, my family, my lover. He was my partner. He was the last person I spoke to before I slept, the first person I thought about when I woke up. He was that safe place that all my thoughts went hiding. He was my therapy. He was my favourite thing to do. The love I had, still have, for that man was pure, obsessive, unreasonable, emotional, consuming, painful, passionate, spiritual. It was everything good thing and every bad thing. It was unhealthy. Nothing ever felt better.
I pray to God that I never feel that way again. I loved it.
My wanting for this man grew stronger every single day of the years I dated him. He shaped the woman I am today and someday when I am old and blind, I will tell my granddaughter about him. I will smile and perhaps shed a tear or two, I will never forget how good this man of my youth made me feel. I loved him even when I hated him. I would have followed that man through the gates of hell and when I decided to leave, I thought I would die. I wanted to die.
I remember waking up in the middle of the night shaking, staring into nothing and just crying. Every morning when I woke up, it felt someone was ripping my flesh. once I locked myself in my house for a whole weekend and just cried. I wouldn’t talk about the break up with anyone because it was such a raw emotion that the only person I trusted with such information was him, the person who caused it. It was a physical pain almost. I remember the hopelessness, the emptiness, the despair. Losing him was the worst thing I have ever gone through and I knew I would die.
But I didn’t. The pain at the pit of my stomach slowly eased. I stopped started finding little things to make me happy, I started talking to my family. I reading again and somehow, my life started mending. One day i woke up and I was alright. Happy even.
And I am not a skeptic, I can’t wait to meet the man I will marry and I do plan to love him. Just better next time. I want him to be my friend and my partner, not my whole bloody life. I want to be with someone I am happy to go home to, not someone who it hurts to be apart from. I want to love a man who makes me happy. A man I can be rational with. I want a normal, boring, stable.
I hope my ex was the love of my life because I don’t have it in me to go through that again.