i fell in love once with a man who never asked me questions. in fact, he didn't really seem to want to know anything about me at all, with the exception of one particular area. and i remember so clearly, the way that i would rapid fire facts about myself into the space between us, hoping that he would snatch them up as they passed. but the thing of it is, he hardly seemed to notice the bits and pieces at all. there was a profound longing to be known, to be heard and seen and felt. and i carried that longing with me until it grew so large that i could no longer do so.
for awhile, i dragged it behind me, just in case he changed his mind. but eventually, the weather outside grew colder and the burden of dragging it through each season became unbearable. the thought of no longer carrying it around threw me into such a panic, but then again, so did the idea of having to carry it even one step further.
and so, i closed my eyes and i let go.
the first steps were small, tentative. the next were slightly more resolute. by the time i had reached the end of the block, i had broken into a jog. i rounded the corner and sprinted as fast as my legs would take me, away from all of that sadness and unrequited longing. all of the minutes and hours and days i had spent contemplating my place in this person's life. all of the tears. for each and every time, i lay in the dark with my arms wrapped tightly around myself for comfort. i ran until my lungs blazed and i felt like collapsing from exhaustion.
where do you go from here?
it doesn't hurt any less, even now. it's just a different kind of hurt. one, not born from hypotheticals and mixed messages and flickering hope, but from the knowing. the slow and painful recognition of what something will never be and perhaps, what never was.