Perhaps I have not been as good at letting go as I thought.
Who the fuck am I kidding – I am terrible at letting go! Too many exes have two-part stories, ill-advised aftermath one-nighters, awkward friendships ballet dancing on a knife edge, awaiting one of us to plunge…your chest or mine?
But him. He is the only one I have ever admitted (albeit to myself) that I cannot let go of.
Don’t get me wrong, I do not pine for him. I do not fantasise about what our lives could be now. Our affair served a purpose – it was not manifested for longevity.
But I did manifest it.
Raw. Sexy. Dangerous. Passionate. Wild. Fleeting – all the adjectives that ask for trouble.
I knew what I was doing. I called it in. What I did not realise was the depth of my manifestation.
What I had summoned was a detonator. Someone who would not simply push, but drop-kick me off over the parapet into the Mariana Trench of ‘things that I need to heal’. I 100% had everything I would need to navigate; I was ready to swim. I perhaps did not want too yet.
The first time I fell into his beautiful eyes, a voice in my head told me that they were not for me. The ending, I knew the script. I had read it even before we had spent our first night together, wrapped in each other so tightly I did not know where he started and I ended. We fell asleep our lips delicately touching, my exhale his inhale. ‘Love, where have you been’ he breathed into my mouth, and down I swallowed.
I did not simply sense it, I knew. I knew he would break my heart, exactly how and when, and how he would vanish – Fleeting, remember?
Just as I foretold, he did it. Every blow stuck exactly as I had choreographed; no harder or softer. My guts turned exactly as I knew they would as he twisted the knife again.
And then poof! He was gone.
Now as I said, I do not pine for ‘what could have been’ – nothing could have been. He fulfilled his potential as a partner during that time.
That I knew he would hurt me, and I did not cease our affair. That I did not walk the plank at my own pace, rather I waited for his cruel hand to push me – that is what I have been angry at.
So I chose to forgive myself for not forgiving, absolved that one day I would be able to release the pain at the right time.
Now, that time has come. The stars are aligned, the universe is shifting. I am on to yet another chapter that distances me from us.
And yet…something persists. There is a pressure on my chest.
For he no longer exists, his whereabouts unknown (for my sanity rather than his). If I let go of my pain, I also let go of the great joy of our moment. I lose the ecstasy of our experience, for it was exactly the bohemian romance I desired.
If I let go of both my joy and pain – Did he ever exist at all?
This whole earth-shattering experience – was it real?
How did my heart break so much that when I put it back together it was from the ground up in a new more beautiful way than I could ever imagine?
I thought about this as cleared the flower beds today. The skeletons of sage leaves were such fragile beauty, I did not want to disturb them, even though I could see them choking the green ribbons of spring underneath.
Reluctantly I pulled at them, and they moved without resistance. They gave up their ground without effort, some crumbled in my hands and fell back to the earth. Some roots were a little stubborn, but eventually yielded with a sigh.
I gazed upon the new bed. It was clear, concise, spacious, simply beautiful. Full of potential. Even thought last year’s blooms had gone, they were no less forgotten, for without them there would be no path for the younglings to grow.
So this is what I will endeavor to do this weekend in the garden of my heart.
I am ready…
