November 14th, 2012
|10:26 am - Constant as a northern star. Constantly in the darkness. Where's that at? |
And so it ends.
Twelve years. Endless tears. So many lonely nights. And this is the stuff I have to remember. These are the things I didn't document here. I was so obsessed for so long with scribbling down the good bits. The stuff that made the breath catch in my throat. The words, the looks, the touches that made my heart stop for just the briefest of brief seconds. I needed those words to fall back on later, when he was so very absent. When I found myself alone and lonely yet again. When the doubt gnawed at the back of my mind. When my heart was breaking, I needed to be able to go back and read the things that kept me coming back.
My feelings are conflicted about all those years I spent hopelessly in love with a ghost. Where they wasted? I prefer to think not. I prefer to think they served a purpose.
I was twenty when I met him. The truth is, I've outgrown him. I no longer find it romantic to hold on to a love so hopeless. Now it's the little things I crave. The every day things. The comfort. The sitting on the couch and just being with someone else kind of stuff.
Twelve years built around passion. Built around late night kisses. Distance. Arm's length. Holding on to long ago spoken words so tightly that now they're a bit frayed around the edges. I wonder if I'd remember them so clearly if I hadn't written them here.
A clean break, I think. I don't miss him. I don't wish him ill, nor do I wish him joy. The cold truth is that I don't much care what happens to him from now on. A colder truth is that he hasn't really cared about what happened to me for years. "A tacit interest" indeed.
I could go back and think of all the ways he's done me wrong. But really, what's the point? What's the point in looking back? I would feel a need to justify his behavior as a way of condoning my own. What I really want to do is take ever more steps forward until this is well behind me. Until he really and truly is a ghost. A ghost of my twenties past.
The highest of highs, the lowest of lows. I no longer need to soar on the wings of tightly held memories. I want to build new ones. Ones that mean something. I want to just be myself and have someone love me for it.
I know it's over
and it never really began
but in my heart, it was so real
So goodbye, Frank. Goodbye, hopeleslove.