It’s never easy to look at one’s flaws, mistakes, and wish-I-could-do-over’s.
The sting of “Why did I do that” causes anxiety and depression, at least for me.
Often times, throughout the past year, my dreams have rummaged through hurts and insecurities and madness without my conscious permission; left me worn and confused, and wanting to correct mistakes, yours and mine.
I remind myself that your mistakes are your own.
Many times I have reminded myself that I have only ever had the power to correct mine, to climb out of the strange depths of “love” induced madness healthier and happier, with a greater sense of joy.
I have long since forgiven you. I only recently have forgiven myself.
I hear you are healthy, happy, and dating.
One year later, it doesn’t sting quite as much, the dating part I mean.
I would be lying if I said the thought of you enjoying close intimate moments with someone else doesn’t prick just a bit…
I have never been good at letting go. We talked about that, you and I. You knew this.
I have many times pouted and cried to close friends, “This is different.”
There was the rush of instant chemistry, blush of vulnerability, and a vision and immature reach into a future of forever.
There were signs you were not for me…the disapproval of friends who have known me for years, the secrecy of a love I wanted to shout about…the recognition that I could not, no matter how hard I tried, understand you. And no, you never understood me either.
I sat one day, and listed all of my mistakes and ridiculous behaviors. I had to own them, one by one, no excuses.
This isn’t to say that I think myself a horrible person, or less worthy of love, trust, and happiness.
It was instead a necessary part of healing, a part of letting go.
My very best friend and I had a brief discussion about all that has happened in the past year. She marvelled at the fact that, still, a year later, I twitch uncomfortably at the mention of your name. She came to the same conclusion I had come to long ago. I was really in love with you…
It WAS different. I can say without a doubt that you are a part of a short list of great loves (2). It was a great love, if but brief and chaotic. It was a great love, for all the painful lessons.
It was a great love, that I many times tried to forget by consuming every bit of alcohol within my reach. It was a great love that I remembered even on hazy, panicked, regretful hangover mornings.
It was a great love, that I now carry with me voluntarily.
It was a great love, and perhaps you would disagree.
But then, that would fit perfectly into the story of you and I, wouldn’t it?