This blog finally feels like a blog to me. Thank you to each of you who are reading and for those of you who are commenting. You will find out that I don't usually post about love on this blog as I have a separate and private blog where I do that. But this post I just wrote, well, this one, I just felt like sharing on a larger scale as I think a lot of you have felt these feelings. I just happen to be feeling them now. By the way, if you'd like to read my Stellar Love Stories--please send me an email and I will send you an invite. It's all love--all the time!!
He could be kissing someone else right now. He could be holding her hand the way he used to hold mine. He could be kissing that sensitive spot just below her left ear, just like he did mine. Everything he did with me, he could be doing with someone else. Now. Someone not me. Right now. I cannot, thought I've tried these past few months, wrap my brain around this idea.
Does that make the times when it was me less poignant? Does it cheapen what we had? Do we all just continue to replicate the same actions with people we form attachments to?
I can't think that we do. But I've been wrong before. Many times.
She may not know that he likes to have his stomach rubbed. She may never smell like ambrosia the way I did. He might not breathe her in the same way....nor as deeply as he did with me. He might not hold her in the same way...with his hands touching her lower back just so. He may not reach over and tuck that piece of blonde hair behind her ear while she's ranting about feminism.
But then again, he just might and she just might. They might just have exactly what we had. I cannot wrap my brain around this.
He told me he wanted someone simple. Is it possible to be glad I didn't fit that description, but also sad that I didn't fit that description? There is something beautiful in simplicity. Something easy. Something...predictable. I think after what he'd been through in life--he wanted predictable.
He mentioned a girl he thought he could date. She was simple. Very simple. I told him--as we sat on my couch that dark night, no lights, just empty air and black silhouettes--I told him that if he wanted to know what every day for the rest of his life would be like, then he should marry that girl. She was safe.
What he didn't know, what he couldn't see, was that I was safe too. That my love, once given, is fierce and strong and radiant and beautiful and intense and far from simple. It was lasting, it was a choice, it was redeeming, it was voiced, it was considerate, in encouraged, it was passionate, and it never discouraged. It was safe. It wasn't simple. These two things don't have to go together.
But it is over.
And right now, right now--he could be with a simple girl, holding her simple hand, and simply feeling safe.
And I cannot wrap my brain around that.