Writing.

I haven’t been able to write lately.

Mostly I’ve been living in the abyss.

The thriving life is near the surface, swimming swiftly or floating deftly. Deeper, in the darkness of the abyss, there is still life but it is slower. It cannot see as well (or see’s in a different way, perhaps? Unhelpful where we usually must live) and, of course, the pressure is intense.

I feel the pressure, I see little in the darkness of my own emotional turmoil. And while you know there are shallower waters, somewhere… You become disoriented, unable to find “up” in the darkness. Sometimes, having to touch the bottom to realize it and thrust yourself upwards, hoping you make it.

I spoke with Angel. As we’ll call her. She is a bit divine so it’s not an entirely unwarranted designation — divine in sight, in words, in thought, and yes, beauty. She is not mine, nor will she ever be and, in my case, nor do I want her to be now. I’ve met someone now who I’ve fallen in love with, who is the one I want.

Nevertheless, this girl, Angel, has reentered my life after 20 months of absence and I am appreciative of her insight. It’s scary.

And it has scared me.

I recounted to Angel this story — an abbreviated version of it — of Her and what had happened. The things I considered key moments and like a champ she listened in silent fashion… and like an oracle passed judgment not on me but on the actions of all.

It gave me a lot to ponder and consider. I knew I had screwed up. I knew I made many mistakes but some of the clues about how She was thinking hadn’t clicked together. I had missed some important insights.

And disappointment.

Again tonight we spoke — not entirely briefly — about her thoughts on what I had recounted.

In particular, how to interpret the rather random request that she be allowed to come around for sex, if things didn’t work out between her new boyfriend and her.

Angel suggested this did not bode well — either it meant she didn’t care at all (or so little that it wouldn’t bother her) or that she still cared a lot but didn’t know at all how to cope with what had happened — that things were so broken that they couldn’t be fixed.

We spoke about how both of us had a form of insecurity — I didn’t feel “worthy” and she acted as if I didn’t truly care (even though it’s impossible to ignore all of the actions I took to show how much I did care).

Angel putting it into context gave the hypothetical of us getting back together right now. What would it mean? I’d have to give up some girlfriends, I’d have to cope with my own self-worth issues to be able to be really with her… and could I?

Nearly all of my friends have alluded to this sort of thing, in a way, but none had put it forth in such stark terms. Could I even be in a productive relationship with her while still trying to really work on myself; really understand what had motivated me and the silent forces that drove me to treat her (And myself) so disrespectfully.

Put another way: Could I love her the way she needs to be loved?

And the honest answer is I don’t know. I know I can come close. I know I did come close but was hamstrung by fears and doubt. Even so, I did everything in my power to protect her, inspire her, care for her, caress, joke, support, uplift, cajole, and just get to laugh.

I was watching a video of her tonight. It was short, she was unaware… she glanced at me for only a half-second as she resisted a smile and then resumed staring off into space.

All I wanted to do was go to her. To hold her, to press my cheek against her and whisper into her ear a joke, a tease, or even just the breathless desire.

I can’t. Today I escaped the abyss for a bit, not all the way, not completely. I’m still struggling to cope, still struggling to avoid distractions (the most engaging of late being news; not for learning [though I have] but for engaging stories). I’ve been failing at facing these feelings.

Just that profound loss.

My Angel understands; I’ve met this girl who blows my mind, who thrives on living in the moment. A girl who see’s and knows. A girl who …

I’m not ever going to meet her again.

In the short decades I’ve roamed this planet it’s not that I haven’t encountered anyone like her — it’s that I haven’t encountered anyone close.

There’s a part of me that hopes I’m wrong. Maybe I misjudged her, maybe I misread? Maybe the ridiculous mental connection led to ridiculous physical connections that led me to believe she’s one in a billion…?

Even now — I’ve been taking time to hang out with friends. I’ve been trying to stay engaged with people, to not get too far down into a hole. I’ve hung-out, I’ve called, I’ve chatted.

And everything is a reminder of how much more I had with her. Her depth of understanding was profound. Not just me (clearly she didn’t understand me as much as I thought or she would have known my devotion) but the world, the people puttering around. She sees nature hard at work and devours the details to create a mental mosaic deliciously rich.

Come close, some? Yes. Attuned at that universal level? Not even close.

That realization has become no less crushing.

So I’m trying to find up. Trying to swim. Trying to keep myself from scanning every crowd for her long blonde hair. Trying to not think too hard about how much she would have loved that Superbowl party, how much she would have laughed, how much she would adore my back massages, how much I’d adore her every stray touch.

She filled me with life in a much richer way than any other woman I’ve ever encountered. Not by simply being with me but going with me places and being present there. How many have I taken on some small adventure, whether to a movie, a play, a museum, a forest, a cliff overlook, or a casual coffee shop. She never complained, she was never rude, but most importantly, she was present. She showed up mentally, emotionally and enriched the experience for me.

I hope I did the same for her.

I don’t know that she’ll ever understand the profound impact she had on me. Did she ever? It’s hard to imagine anyone shaking me up as she was — and the ripples are still reverberating within my muscles, permeating through my chest and skull.

I find myself whispering her name as I cross streets, race down freeways, pull into driveways, open doors, sit on benches, recount stories, or — as now — lay in my bed, nearly curled up to sleep.

Good night.