I never allowed for the possibility that I’d fall in love with someone who didn’t love me back. Who has said she doesn’t see me that way. I thought that friendship would be enough. That some contact, some laughter, some shared experience would be enough.
And when I’m with her, it is. I can delude myself that these crumbs, these small morsels can sustain me. But then, hanging out is over. She’s home and I’m alone again. For a little while I’m OK. But then I’ll see something, something stupid that will remind me of her.
Sometimes, contact with other people can mitigate the longing. Fill me up with something other than false hope. And I’ll think I’m being smart. Some time with her is better than nothing, some words with her will illuminate my heart and everything else will recede.
But here I am at 3 in the morning, sleep is no longer a refuge because she’s there. In my dreams, she’s by my side. She walks with me in the world and the world is brighter for it. We’re stronger together than apart. Then I’ll wake, alone. And I’ll know that even in dreaming, I knew it wasn’t real. Because my heart aches so.
Where does that leave me? The rational part says to deal with this. That to leave this as an open wound can only end in poorly. But I can’t bring myself to stop the delusion that maybe. Maybe if she sees my heart, maybe if she sees me in verse and story. Maybe the weight of experience will accumulate and like a light turning on she’ll love me. Maybe she loves me now and is denying it.
It’s a treacherous thing, hope. It can sustain us through horrors, drag us into a better future. Or it can bury its blade deep into our heart, pulsing the possible while slowly ripping us to shreds.
I wish I had it in me to hide from the truth. I wish I could just be happy with what I have. But hope has buried the blade deep.
Pelgris 