I forgave. (help)
How much does it take to forgive? For me, it’s extremely easy to do. I’ve realized I’m less “Easy going” than I think I am, and that even small things can bother me for days, weeks, months on end. If a girl stops calling me, stops returning my calls (I believe the term is ghosting) I can be wrapped in the whys and hows for longer than is prudent or necessary for a healthy functioning adult.
But the minute she comes around, I drop everything like it’s never happened.
Is this usual? What does this say about me? Is it a good thing, that I’m able to forgive and forget, or is it a sign of weakness, of fecklessness, of an ability to be railroaded by any young female with a whiff of blood in the air, willing to dice me and slice me and not pay any consequences?
Maybe “paying consequences” is a construct of my mind which operates in these dualities of power structures and hierarchies and I should really just move on. I am who I am, anyway, and I should own it. The girl in question, obviously, called me tonite. Out of the blue. At first she demurred as to the reason of the call — advice on a photo edit, of all things. No mention of the past strangeness. We arrange to have dinner. She hedged, said she already had dinner plans, but she could do a drink. We hung up. She hedged again, said she was tired. I pleaded. She relented. We had a nice drink. She hugged me and I breathed in the shampoo in her hair and it transported me to another place (they say smell is the strongest sense). She left me at her gate and hoped that sometime, someday, we might see each other again.
There’s a phenomenon of the human condition that when the girl you fancy turns her attention onto you it’s like a thousand spotlights all at once. The world actually warps around her, in the sense that you can’t hear or see as well; every small movement she makes — loaded with meaning. Every touch — completely intentional. Every look — imbued with a sense of gravitas. When she turns on you and the beam smacks you full in the face, the limitless expanse of love (real or imagined, its actually irrelevant) reveals itself.
Moths seek flames. Lemmings seek cliffs. And I seek that beautiful thing.