Forgive me, handsome

For wishing you happy holidays and keeping you in my thoughts and my heart. You’re the only one I can’t reach and your love is fading from my memories. But if you asked, I’d give it one more try. I can’t make myself erase or delete all the posts from these last few months but I promise I tried; I’ve privatized/restricted the ones with more vitriol, anger and resentment but even in those are memories, happy, loving, confused or hurt thoughts I dared to dredge up and relive. I can’t make myself go through that again. Even when I try, I know I’m not feeling the same depth as when we experienced things together and I know it’s a result of writing them out. The cup empties, the cup fills.

I kept a lot of the good times off paper for that very reason. It was selfish of me but I knew you did the same in your own way. I’ve learned that we go through the same motions, thought process and emotions on numerous topics in a way that’s only obvious from a distance. I thought you were trying to control me when you didn’t like me talking to flirty friends and it was just a little insecurity. I pulled the brakes during some of our sexual encounters after I lost our kid because I didn’t think you saw me as attractive any longer, because I didn’t see myself that way – the decision was mine as was my insecurity that I had already lost you, too. You thought that I thought you were crazy for believing in a diet, a way of living that was “insane” when that couldn’t have been more counter-intuitive to the way I have to live my life. My diet restrictions come with a heavy price when I fall off the wagon and you’ve seen that in action. My resistance was hearing how I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t enough period, for you as I am. These insights took time to accept and if I thought obsessively over every which way you or I would jump on a topic, the result is the same: we balance each other very well when we have to, when we want to.

I find myself tripping up and writing in both the past and present tense whenever I get into thoughts like today. It’s a conversation between the me who still loves and wants you verses the me who’s standing strong on her own two feet (the one who doesn’t need you, never needed you and knows there’s nothing to want in or from you), striking out on her destiny by registering for classes and passing her duties onto the next nanny. For both, quitting is arduous but plowing ahead, once the initial doubts and fears are reconciled, has always come with ease. Perhaps, quitting isn’t even the right word: it’s more a change of heart, a change of pace.

I guess it’s the Universal end game that I have no idea why I can go weeks without a dream of you but when I do, they’re full of potency. It wasn’t pleasant the two times I awoke to find myself in the bed and arms of another when I fully expected you. I’m hoping the fear of failure and the pace of med school will stretch out those types of occasions. I’m hoping you’re just as busy and fruitful, too, because you deserve it: also hoping you’ve learned to include your parents and brothers in your day-to-day activities. Happy holidays, handsome.