If someone had walked up to me just over a year ago and told me that life was about to get very complicated, I wonder if things could’ve been different. If they had said I would one day stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and not recognize the person staring back, what would I have done?

It’s terribly difficult to remember the woman I was and impossible to remember how she felt. What did her world look like? How did she process each day?

I long for her. I associate her with a yet untarnished image. A woman still faithful to her husband. A woman fiercely loyal to a way of life that wasn’t really working, that wasn’t adding up. Sitting here today, after all that has transpired, I wonder what the knowledge of unhappiness actually brought me. Was it worth it in the end?

I have told a thousand lies. I have been sneaky and deceptive and reckless.

I did it for love.

Or so I thought.

I did it to be happy.

Yet happiness often eluded me.

I did it for intimacy.

Of which he took more than gave.

I did it because I thought he was different.

And now I know that I was wrong.

If someone had told me that I would turn myself inside out over and over in vain, that this would make me cry more than smile, would I have turned and run away?

A year later, I don’t know.

Here

“I miss you,” I typed.

And he said, “me too.”

Remember

Remember our first kiss? The first real one-not the one that took me by surprise and made me run.

Your heart was racing as you held me, your mouth quivering in my hair. And then you pulled back ever so slowly until our noses were practically touching and you pressed your lips to mine. Your hands were shaking as you moved them to either side of my face, holding me in that embrace. The neurons in my brain were shooting in a million different directions and electricity ran through my veins and I was so taken aback that I had to stop and catch my breath.

Do you remember?

Remember the first time we made love? I tried to be brave, but you called my bluff. And there we stood face to face in the dark, eyes searching, hands reaching, right before we took the plunge. I had butterflies in my stomach before you walked in. I paced the room, simultaneously terrified and exhilarated by what was to come. You didn’t disappoint. It was the beginning of something-though of what-we weren’t sure.

Do you remember?

Remember that first time in your car? You told her you were going to out to get a meat thermometer, but you met up with me instead. And you said, “We don’t have to do anything. I just wanted to see you.” It only made me want to do everything with you. You could’ve asked for anything and I would have happily obliged. The way your eyes lit up at my suggestion-“here? right now?!”-how we fumbled with clothes and space in the backseat and I laughed and you smiled.

Do you remember?

Remember that Sunday morning on the last day of August? A perfect storm. Stowed away in your backseat as you drove home and you could barely keep your eyes on the road. When we got to your house and went into your room, it was so quiet. I was nervous at the thought of having four whole hours with you. I turned around and you unzipped my dress slowly as you kissed down my spine and I shivered with pleasure. You always knew how to love my body, how to keep me coming back for more. When time was up, we lay there sweaty and spent, trying to avoid the reality that was creeping back in. We would not fall asleep together. You would drive me back to my car, we’d kiss goodbye and I would drive home alone, lost in my sadness, already missing you.

Do you remember?

Remember the conversations that started at 7 and whipped into a frenzy throughout the day before the final goodnight in the wee hours of the next morning? Back when we could talk about anything and everything. When you called me beautiful and babe and sweets. When you called me “your girl” and I called you peach. When I was allowed to say that I missed you and we both knew what that meant.

Do you remember?

Remember the first day of silence? When I checked for the usual morning text and there was none. Before I knew it, the entire day had flown by and still, nothing. And it wasn’t until later the next day that you reached out, saying you had just been busy. A week of spotty, semi-formal communication and I finally began to worry. I asked, “Is this the end?” You said, “It should be.” But the next day, we were back in each other’s arms.

Do you remember?

Remember that amazing week? School, the gym, lunch, park dates, work visits. The universe seemed keen to throw us into one another’s paths every chance it got. We sat on the playground divider one day, watching the kids play by the tree and you scooted closer and closer until we were touching. We were content just to be together. This hum of energy swirled around us and I felt happier than I’d felt in a long time. You kissed me simply, sweetly; when you knew no one was watching. That kiss left me smiling long after we parted ways.

Do you remember?

Remember the day everything changed? More silence, more distance. Having already gone through it once, I knew where you were in your head. I said, “this is what I want.” And you said, “I don’t think I can give that.” I said, “then I’ll take less.” And you said, “you deserve more.” I went to bed hoping that it was all a bad dream, but when I woke, the words were still there. I tried to mask my grief, but it forced its way out at the most inopportune moment. Walking through a store alone with my heavy heart, I realized I could no longer breath. With every step, it felt like air was being sucked from my lungs. I walked faster and faster until I practically sprinted out of the store and into the parking lot where I began to whimper. Just before I could reach the safety of my car, the tears broke free and sobbing, I threw myself into the car and laid my head against the steering wheel where I cried and heaved until I thought I was empty. My next destination only proved harder and I left there too, crying. Again, sobbing against my steering wheel, praying to the Universe to make the pain go away. But there was no magic fix. Only emptiness and loneliness. Our neighbor saw me that night and I know she told your wife and I know your wife told you. Though she didn’t know my tears were for you, I know that you did.

Do you remember?

Remember when we agreed to be friends? Only, it doesn’t seem like we can be. The chemistry is too strong. The love, too real. You say this is the way it has to be and yet, we still fall back into each other’s arms. Each time more passionate, filled with more need than the time before. “In our next lifetime, we’ll be together,” you promise. But the thing is, I don’t know if I believe in other lifetimes. These past seven months have felt like a lifetime within our lifetime. We were infinite. Bigger than big. Brighter than the millions of stars lighting up the night sky. You feel like home.

And as I sit here in the wee hours of a new day, I wonder where we go from here. Do you think about me as much as I think about you? Do you imagine holding me close and falling asleep like you openly wished for when things were good? Do you lay in bed at night and recount the moments?

Because the thing is, I do. And at some point, I need to learn how to forget you.

Will you remember?

Dear

Dear Heart,

It’s time to let go now. There is nothing left here, but the same sad routine. And that routine has gotten old. This needs to end. As deeply as it hurts, as hard as it seems-it will only get harder the longer that it continues. There is no future here. Stop pining. Your tears are wasted. He doesn’t love you enough to leave and he will never love you enough to go. The going rests squarely on you now. Don’t be swayed by secret smiles and sweaty palms. His lips are not yours for the taking. He never was.

Dear Brain,

Stop the incessant ‘what ifs.’ There may be hidden meanings in his words, but there is no longer a point in trying to decipher what they could be. If he really wanted you to know, he would’ve said it all outright anyway. Lord knows, you did. It’s too late to beat yourself up over the details- what you should’ve said, could’ve said, to change the outcome. You should know by now in his actions and the silence that there was no other ending but this one. And nothing you could do to change that.

Dear Eyes,

Stop searching for him. When it hurts to see him, stop looking. Why do you torture yourself?

Dear Hands,

Stop reaching. There is only the void now.

Dear Body,

Stop wanting him. It’s time to forget the way his body connected perfectly to yours like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. There is nothing to be gained in keeping yours close to his-the magnets will always be there, but your brain and your heart need  you more.

Dear J,

One day it won’t hurt so much. Try hard to remember that when you can’t stop crying. When you feel like all of the air has been sucked from your lungs. When the day seems a little grayer. Before him, there was you. And you are a survivor. This too, will one day fade.

Maybe I was wrong about you

The Cycle of Heartbreak

This is the part where I pretend I’m okay with the silence.

This is the part where I begin berating myself for giving you one more night, one more piece of me, one more, one more.

This is the part where I wonder why you keep doing this. Reeling me in, casting me back out.

This is the part where I wonder why I keep letting you.

This is the part where I hear a song that reminds me of what we had and play it on repeat until tears run down my cheeks and spill noiselessly into my lap.

This is the part where I feel the white hot anger rising up inside of me. Nobody should be allowed this much control over another’s heart.

This is the part where I promise myself I will never let you back in.

Until, next time.

The Gift, The Burden

I begin and end my day the same- checking my phone for signs of you.

I miss you.

The way you called me babe. The “that’s my girl” exclamations. I was a present. Every day, you tore the wrapping a little more to uncover the gem hidden underneath.

And when it happened. The unraveling. The space. The silence. I found myself reaching for you. Extending far beyond the confines of careful. So desperate did I become to step back into the secret little world we had built.

The farther I reached, the more you retreated. I tried to be okay with it. You were never really mine, anyway. And yet….

This morning I woke up and checked my messages. Silence.

Something clicked inside of me. A realization. You used to hold me close, as if you couldn’t believe your luck. You were grateful to have me, to have the opportunity to be with me, to talk to me. But somewhere along the way, I think you started to see me as a burden, a relationship too hard and too heavy to carry in the long run.

I can’t accept that.

It’s time to stop looking for you.

When It’s Different

i hate the way things have changed over the last few weeks. i hate the desperation i feel as i watch it all fall around me. the panicked, fast-paced beating of my heart. ba rump ba rump ba rump. over and over and over. i hate the way my eyes well of their own accord when i hear or see something that reminds me of the way it felt to be his. it was like basking in the sun’s rays, until the dark clouds blew in and with it, a biting wind. i felt warmed. i felt safe inside the bubble we created. until the bubble burst.

there are the blatant signs of change. the drastically reduced daily paragraphs which once began when the sun came up and whipped into a frenzy throughout the day, that are now practically nil. the calendar, which used to represent the number of possibilities to see one another, that is now suddenly empty.

the worst is not in the blatant, however. it lies in the subtleties. the things said and not said. the absence of “babe.” the lack of possessional pronouns. it is no longer, “that’s my girl.” there is no “us.” these words have been stricken from our exchanges. i never thought i could miss these words until they were taken away. there is a very particular sense of heartache that comes with this terrain. and even after three weeks, it is tireless in its ability to level me.

more than anything, the absence of is what feels impossible to navigate. the absence of affection. the absence of presence. the absence of a lover. and at the very core, the absence of a person who’d become a dear friend. i can’t stop feeling sad about it. feeling bewildered and rejected and angry and imploring and hopeless. i can’t stop feeling like the world has continued to spin, but i have been left standing still. the only question i continue to ask, the only thing that can propel me into motion is the need to find out what’s next.

today, i can’t fathom a next. i can’t imagine a world different from the one i knew up until recently. i can’t see the other side of it, no matter how i strain my neck to rise above. it’s a continuous onslaught of waves and i’m treading water and every time i make my way to the surface, i am pummeled back under by another one. i almost can’t take it. then i think to myself, well i have suffered far worse. for longer. under much more arduous circumstances. surely i can muddle my way through this current disaster.

and i get to a point in every day where i feel strong enough and good enough to believe that i am fine. that i will be fine.

but…

and yet…

this has been the catalyst for all that has been wrong in the past two years. potentially, all that has ever been wrong my entire life. for every absence i survived, for every lack of and not good enough and worthless feeling i endured without complaint. for every heartbreak, failed relationship. for all the times i have felt humiliated and rejected and less than. for all the nights i spent afraid. it has all peaked here. i opened the closet to add this skeleton and they have all fallen down around me. the more i try to stuff it all back in, the harder it becomes.

and so, i keep moving. keep muddling. still trying to make sense of it all. all, being so all-encompassing. trying to accept the different. trying to be okay with the absence. trying to sit still with myself.

i am a mess, but there is beauty in that.

On Bending

The past few weeks have been nothing short of an Olympic feat in heartache. As hard as it is to admit aloud, I’m struggling. Losing him, but not quite, has only led to more confusion, more loneliness, more. more. There should be a rule that the man who breaks your heart should be temporarily banished to never-again land so that you have the space to recuperate. Even the simplest of tasks such as checking the mail, going to the gym, grocery shopping all now pose threat of a potential run-in. And in my current state, prone to bouts of breathlessness and tears, I shouldn’t have to fear leaving the house as well. Living in such close proximity, seeing him on a regular basis against my will- well, that’s just cruel and unusual punishment.

Or perhaps, karma?

But if there’s anything I’ve learned thus far, it’s this. I am not broken. There have been moments when I can’t catch my breath and I’m sobbing on the floor and it feels as if my heart has been pulled from my chest and smashed against a wall where it’s promptly broken into a million tiny shards. There have been nights where a 7 o’clock bedtime means a small reprieve from the fresh pain of it all. In all senses, I feel frayed, burnt at both ends.

And yet, I’m still here. Getting up, getting out, participating in my life. I keep going, because I have to. Because it’s the only plausible way out of this mess I’m in. Amidst the sorrow, buried deep down where it’s almost difficult to tell that it’s even there, is hope. That tiny spark is enough to signal that I’m not broken, just bending. And the bending is hard and tireless and uncomfortable in every way, but it’s not enough to keep me down.

I remind myself that it won’t be this hard forever. That one morning, I will get up and he won’t be the first thought on my mind. That I will stop checking my phone for messages that never come. That I will eventually see it all for exactly what it was and forgive myself for the hardest, most unkind parts. And with any luck, that the pain will be replaced with quiet acceptance of what never was and couldn’t be.

It’ll just take a little more bending to get there.

High

“I can’t help myself. It’s like you’re a drug that I’m horribly addicted to. And you make me want to get as high as a kite.” His inner torment was clear.

I tried so hard not to lure him in, to tempt him. But he was my drug too. And I needed him as much as he needed me.