Snapshot

What’s difficult about the whole thing is that nobody really knew about him. Well, they knew, they just didn’t understand. Fair enough — turns out I didn’t understand either until it was over. Once it was over, I realized it was also too late. My feelings had been real and now I’m stuck here at the crossroads between having to give him up, or just completely giving up (on finding love altogether). This pain is not worth it anymore. I’m finding that not only does my body become more senstive as I age, but my heart as well. The last time this happened — unrequited love — it was five years ago and there was a kind of freedom in it. How great to have loved so fiercley! How great to love, despite the lack of love in return! How great is the woman who can endure unrequited love! It’s a common theme throughout literature and scripture alike. “The strongest man will love anyway in the face of adversity” — or something stupid like that.

***

I need to get this out. I need it extracted from the deepest and darkest crevasses in the core of my chest— the pain implanted there by temporary heartache and permanent repression — I need get it out that I loved him. That I still love him… That I took him for granted because I was trying to be this uncanny, chique hybrid between an old-school, in-your-face-honest woman and the ever popular ‘90s I-don’t-care-and-I-love-it kind of bitch. You know the type:

“I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“No strings attached.”

“Sure, I can come over now.”

“Yes.”

Yes is always the answer… and it’s bullshit. It’s all bullshit. The only time “Yes” is a suitable answer for anything is when the question asked is: “Should I be myself instead?”

***

The only reason I know I fell for someone who doesn’t, can’t, won’t love me back is because I still struggle with intense pangs of heartache, weeks after it’s already ended. The first time he ever returned me to my own home after dinner and drinks was the night he ended it, and the drive felt foreign. I felt panicked and confused, because it was wrong. This wasn’t routine. I begged “why?” trying to sound more like I was playfully whining (and not actually upset) because I had to keep my cool… but a primal panic in the back of my head had my mind racing. Perhaps I could change his mind. Perhaps he was kidding. Perhaps after realizing he was serious, I tried cracking a joke about having gotten a Brazilian wax the other day (so great timing and you suck ha ha ha), just to make it seem like I wasn’t hurt (and are you sure about your decision now?). When I finally closed my own front door behind me (so strange), I walked straight to the bathroom and cried uncontrollably hard on its cold linoleum floor for the next two days…

Maybe that should’ve been my first clue.