What is she thinking?
The question pounds intermittently through my brain.
I’m looking at her, I see her, see her tiny movements that display great defense. She wont look at me. That’s never a good sign.
She asked me how I felt. I, stupidly, told her. And now, here we are; across the table from each other but might as well be 100 miles apart, across an ocean, or better yet, 1,000 leagues beneath the sea.
While she is slowly coming apart at the seams right in front of me, I’m desperately trying to reconcile with the truth and heavy weight of my own words.
God, I never meant to hurt her.
I wish she would just look at me. Goddamnit! Just look at me!
Hurting her, causing her any type of distress, was the last thing I ever wanted. She’s been through enough.
I just wish I could give her what she needs; wish more than anything that I could find that something we are both looking for. If only I could; I would hang on to it and never let it go.
Letting go: I guess that’s what we’re doing. Neither of us want to. It’s a fight; a fight between head and heart, between reality and romanticism.
She’s finally looking at me. Her eyes are portals to the truth. The truth of the situation has crippled both of our abilities for speech.
How did we end up here?
What am I going to do now? Silly question. I’ll do what I’ve always done and carry on. Somehow.
After everything having been so optimistic and feeling so positive, how did we get ourselves into this conversation?
It wasn’t supposed to go this way.
What is he saying anyway? Does he even know? Does he realize what his words tell me? That I’m not good enough, even on my best day.
But I am good enough. Or, I will be good enough. For someone, somewhere, someday.
I wish he knew how much he means to me; that he’s had a tremendous hand in helping me become a woman that I love to be.
You never know who the universe is going to bring you, and you never know how long they will stay, but they will leave something with you that will likely remain with you for the rest of your life. He most certainly will leave plenty of positives as a result of our chance meeting. I’m grateful for that. Because I will be OK.
In situations like these, honestly and respect are the two best things anyone can hope for. He afforded me both, and now I have to let him go.
I wish it could be different, but, deep down, he knows I’m not the one. And he deserves to find that person. And so do I.
Peace is sometimes hard to come by, but not with him. Not even now, where we are overturning everything we thought we knew.