I sent a very brief email to John today - not expecting much. I just wanted to say goodbye really. Deep down, I wanted him to answer, but I didn't know he would. He did, and I got the heartbreak I expected. He tried to be lovely about it, but he wanted to be honest. He said I am "a good friend" and that's how he "wants it to stay". I guess I knew this would be the response I'd get - but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have some small attachment of hope that it would go the other way. Because he addressed all this via email - I had to read this in public, at work...and somehow keep myself together enough to continue functioning - or at least pretending. It was one of the hardest moments I can recall.
So, electronic heartbreak - its speed is deceptive - you forget that such a mighty blow can be delivered from such an unassuming act of clicking 'send'. Wow. It was so hard to read; but it was never going to be easy was it? I am torn, and saddened beyond imagination. When I think about it too much, a feeling of nausea washes over me - a heavy stone lodges itself in the pit of my stomach as I recall the dream sequences, that will forever more be confined to my imagination. Ouch. That's a lot of images to re-write.
As the day wore on, thoughts of his email cropped up less and less; until home time, when I knew I'd be free of distraction, free to feel it. Except I stifle it still. If I were alone, or in the company of someone who knew what I had done, I would been a mess. But there is no one to share this pain with. Besides, I created it, I should be the one to carry it to it's grave, on my own.
I don't want to give up - on life and love and possibility. I really, really thought he was 'it' and it's just really hard right now to think about finding someone real to fill that void. If I thought he was real, but he wasn't - how hard is it going to be to find the actual real thing?
I'm so scared my destiny is to become a weird cat lady. Do you suppose this is how cat ladies are made? With stories such as these? I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be second, third best - I want to be somebodys first. Where am I going to find them?
I've been warned a couple of times about the amorous nature of the Italian and Greek men - it's not something I would normally seek, and I have my doubts about my ability to be on the receiving end of such affections, however, at this moment I think I could really use the ego boost. Just a little one.
On the inside I am a little girl crying in a heap on the floor, and all I want is for somebody to collect me into their arms, wipe my tears, dust me off, set me on my feet and tell me someday this will be ok, and this feeling will go away.
I wish I had the ability to split myself in two, scoop my sadder half into my arms and tell her it's all going to be ok, eventually. That this will pass. Except I can't do this, and I don't know if I can see 'ok' right now. It all hurts so much.
We've all got stories haven't we, of the ones that got away? I guess it's whether we let the story define and shape us. Right now, the wave of the emotion is sweeping me away.
I look forward to a time, when going to bed, does not mean crying until my eyes burn - when I can hear his name and not flinch; when I can look upon this and say it's actually ok.