Ernest Hemingway once wrote, “write hard and clear about what hurts.”
He told me that I’d feel better in time, others told me the same thing too. He told me I’d find someone new and that the broken part of my heart would heal and feel the same again with time. That I would experience love again and that life could return to how I felt with him, those moments of pure happiness, moments of looking forward to the rest of our lives. I’ve learned all of that isn’t true. It’s hurt so bad that I haven’t been able to write about it at all really. It’s something I should be able to write about. It’s my story. My heart.
What I know now is that I will never ever be the same. I don’t love as hard now, I don’t trust as easily and I don’t invest as fully. My heart will never truly heal, it will always have that place deep within it where it hurts. I will always be reminded of my happiness by certain things – and how he became just one of those people that passes through my life and not one of those people that stays. I have a hard time connecting now, I have a hard time believing that anyone will stay.
I miss being a woman full of passion and strong feeling. I am dulled and that’s the only thing I get mad at him for – he took away that deep immense feeing that I no longer have access to.
I am thankful though that I now see life as it really is. I understand what it means not to get what you want. I understand what it means to lose. I understand what it means to fully accept that you will live the rest of your entire life missing someone. I understand now that I will never let go of that loss and I will never fully heal, I will keep on going because life and time teaches you that you must, but I will always dream about him, I will always wonder how his life turned out, I will always wish it was me he was having pillow talk with, I will always wonder what it would be like to have seen him be a dad, to have raised our children together, to have grown old in his home country, to have “chewed on our dentures, ” as he once said, together.
The most confounding thing in my life now is wondering if I’m being fair to anyone else. Is it fair to give them only a piece of my heart because the other half of it is already taken? Is it fair to love someone with only half your heart? This is also the thing I lost in that heartbreak, I lost the ability to give my whole self to someone else.
I’m not the same kind of sad anymore, I’m just a fraction of what I was. I feel like I live life now with somewhat dulled senses, dulled feelings. I long to feel that passion again, that excitement for what could be, that excitement in looking forward to the rest of your life because someone so special is by your side.
We don’t choose who we love, who takes our breathe away and makes us feel like we’re really living. And sometimes, we don’t get to choose whether that person stays and continues our journey with us.
Oh well. That’s all there is to it.
I now know the truth. I now know what grief really looks like, it has no definitive stopping point like I once thought. It stays with you forever because love cannot, ever, be erased.
What I hope for now is that someday, when I’m old, I’ll get to see him again. I’ll get to see how his life turned out. I’ll get to see that he had a good life, even if I wasn’t in it. I’ll get to tell him that I never ever stopped loving him, that I held on to a few of the best memories, the ones I wouldn’t let my memory take away, to keep me going and to calm my heart on the days when it hurt really bad. To him I was probably just a blip in his road, but to me he was my path. It just happens like that sometimes.