Yesterday was another very busy day; but towards the end of the day I finally opened up the last email from you to read at my leisure. It had been a couple of days of not a moment to spare, falling asleep more easily and I was in a fairly good mood, hard work, exercise and a moment's respite from the sharp light and lazy heat; filled with a peaceful anticipation, ready to relish in the words I had skimmed a couple of days before which had been of love and wanting to be together in a stable relationship, words which had sustained me for days and given me the strength to push for the change that is so important in my life; to draft the documents that needed to be drafted, to do the meetings that had to be held, the tough conversations that had to be spoken.
However, it was not to be that way. For reasons that are impossible for me to explain, I had misread everything. Indeed, I had anticipated a call or another message to follow up, perhaps even to plan something.
I was excited to be able to explain the misunderstandings about what was and was not an emotion bomb.
I had thought that things were going well, that we had been making love to one another; only to realize at the end that I had been making love to myself. That through whatever self delusion I suffered, those words that I had been so certain I had understood had an entirely different meaning when read at leisure.
I was in shock, suddenly realized there was something I needed at the store without being sure what it was; I lurched out of my office uncertain if I had turned on the alarm or locked it even; relying on instinct. Once in the store, I was disoriented, the isles seemed to be swaying in a rough sea, I paid twice as much as I should have for chlorine that was not the right size to last while I was gone.
The time between the office and the store had evaporated as if it had not existed.
To think that only that morning I had been doing plank exercises to fulfil what I thought was a common fantasy. None of this was her fault, there was no illusion in the writing, only a delusion in reading it or, more accurately, in not reading it with care. Perhaps it was yet another example of the madness that I suffer from.
It did not say we together, it was not about us. It was about her being together with someone else.
My heart was broken and I thought that I must do something to pull the pieces together lest I enter some place from which I could never return.
The only thing which saved me was that I had not swam. It was hot, not only the fierce heat of summer, but an internal heat from an internal hell.
My heart was pumping in every direction, stomach burning, head spinning; I hit the water and swam as hard as my heart would allow, relishing in the thought that if it burst the pain would stop. It started slow, but the water immediately cooled my fevered brow, 500 yards and a certain rhythm was established, 1000 yards, a 400 im, a second 400im, a small bit of relief, the heart taking over forced by the need to supply oxygen, 300 im to finish it off and then the exhaustion setting in, the endorphins, a moments relief. Despite the futility of it, I did another minute of plank, my heart pounding with the limited effort after the swim, me insulting myself as the body complained it had done enough already, but knowing that I had to keep up my illusion even if only so I could sleep that night.
I wish I could hate you for fooling me, but you did not, you were honest and perhaps even kind to not lead me on and I am stuck where I am.
Twenty two day, a mere three weeks; but there is nothing to look forward to except being alone and maybe that is enough, for whatever is out there in the desert, it will be mine and mine alone to savor.
Maybe it is time to stop writing this. I wanted so badly last night to Share this to say how deeply it hurt me, but I have been hurt a lot, I have a record of every cut and scrape though none appear on the outside.
I am like you, I need someone else so I can move on. It's worse for me because you are so good at what you do and because it seems irreplaceable and my own actions irresponsible. How often in my short life have I lost something of value because of my recklessness, you're just another priceless artifact I let roll into the sewer that is my past.
I could not sleep last night, I wonder that I even tried. Today is another full and important day yet nothing seems to matter. And yet, when the sun comes up the day will be full of promise, rising like a red rubber ball, although actually a yellow rubber ball.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxRfbJvjsN8
It's just a question of how many red balls I have to see before the evenings cease to stretch out forever.
And lastly, powerful photographic art “Disappearing Females” Photo by Yemeni photographer Boushra al-Moutawakel
It is strange to read what was happening in March of 2014. While I know this post was between the two other posts in March, I cannot say the exact date because I was so very distraught that I did not take note of the date when I opened it. It does, however, fit my mood and very well could have been written yesterday afternoon.
March 20, 2014 more or less
loving you or letting you go
and how would I know which
when so little is known
about alternate paths in life
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