Dearly beloved,
We are gathered here today to say goodbye to a dear friend.
It was such a sparkling bright thing. But it wasn’t meant to last. I haven’t wanted
to hold this ceremony or write these words, as it would mean it was real. And I
really don’t want to say goodbye. In fact, I can’t actually see the screen as I
type this. My eyes seem to be leaking. Sadly, things fall apart. There’s a
saying that it does the heart good to be broken, as it lets more light in. Others
say the feelings of sorrow are akin to those of love, as they are heart opening.
I know which I would prefer.
I have found it so hard to write since stripped of my
spinster shackles, as I would always write from the heart, and once that became
joined with another, it felt unfair to speak of it. I suppose that is an
upside. My heart belongs to me again.
As I look around my flat, I wonder what to do with a lot of
its contents. As I fell in love the week I moved into my house, nearly everything
in it holds memories. The couch and bed were brought together in a local furniture
shop in Causeway Bay, before we’d even kissed. Dragonflies on the wall were
Valentine gifts. Silk robes for birthdays. Paintings from trips to Miami. Jade rabbits from Taiwan. Moon rabbits from
Japan. Fridge magnets and mugs from Arkansas. Cowboy boots from Memphis. I
guess if I were a more level headed girl I would see myself as having done
rather well from this whole adventure. Unfortunately, I am an overly
sentimental type and always see the histories of objects when I look at them.
In many ways, my apartment is a mistress flat. A tiny pied a
terre. Not a real home. You see, I thought we’d be building a home together, so
this place became a homage to what was going to be. Now it’s not so I sometimes
wonder what to do when sitting in it.
The mistress flat title is a clue to where the cracks
originate. When the title became achingly true. I was a mistress. The man I loved
was still married. The divorce process only began when we met. Of course, they
had been separated for a long time, but the ties that bind were still very
evident. I was ready to leap headlong into a brand new life but unfortunately
that was not possible.
The fact the love remains is a double edged sword. The fact I
was never ‘done wrong’ makes it harder. If I try feeling angry and mad it
quickly moves to sadness, Endings are hard. Never-ending endings harder.
Friends and family tell me that I must move on and I’ll find
someone new straight away. I’m beautiful and smart and funny. But I don’t want
to. It is a time for falling apart. I’m not eating properly. I’m drinking and
smoking too much. And I live in a shrine to ‘us’.
We still talk every day. When we split up in Japan in July, the
day the future monarch of Britain was born, when I was binding your fractured
ribs, I said we would have to cease all contact, but after crying a river on
the plane home, I said we can stay in touch. We are in love. Why shouldn’t we
talk. It’s only natural. It’s what the heart wants.
But the heart also wants hope, and a message that says, I’m
sorry, I was wrong, I can’t live without you. Let’s run off and live happily
ever after. Like in Neighbours, when Scott runs after Charlene to the bus station
somewhere in Australia and the next thing you know they’re walking down the
aisle to Angry Anderson. Suddenly. Haha. It’s good to laugh at the mind’s ridiculous
stories. Particularly ones created when you were 11.
There have been various attempts to feel better. I did a
detox so I could glow. I looked alright but vomited olive oil. I fostered a
cat. She was a psycho, I was allergic, the flat got even smaller. She found a
new home and it’s me and the flat once more.
It is of course a more elegant ending than my last break up.
We were in Thailand. He told me I was not good looking. I had my passport
stolen. He said he’d stay. He left on a plane the next morning. I was left
broken in Thailand for 2 weeks until I could travel again. I then had to see
him every day as we lived on the same island and shared the same ferry to and
from work.
Things could be worse J
At least I’m not falling in love with inglorious bastards any
longer. I’m falling in love with people
who love me back. Somewhat healthier.
I must dust myself down. Brush myself off. Start all over
again.
At least I’m not going to bump into this one but then if we
had proximity we probably wouldn’t have broken up in the first place.
I do so miss being wildly happy though. I miss having
someone to rely on. Someone to lean on. Someone to make plans with. I don’t want
to be alone. I want to be with him. Will I miss the fancy trips? Not so much. They
have been lovely but it’s the little things that make the heart swell. The hand
on the small of the back. The good mornings and good nights. The coffees. The
curled up TV watching. The shared songs. Someone to call darling. The unique
shorthand that forms between two people in a relationship.
I wrote a poem when things began to unravel back in June
when the divorce proceedings were being pushed through:
It Was Only Really A Month
A film would remind him of her.
That scent would bring back the day,
She walked through the gardens and sighed.
Singulars were lost.
Plurals found.
Flights of fancy to faraway lands.
Promised lands.
Urgency.
Devotion.
Magic.
But it was only really a month.
The next year was a shuffle,
Wondering where the sparkle went.
Occasionally sought,
In little gifts
And terms of endearment.
But there were more hot angry tears
Than sweet melty kisses.
They didn't know where to look.
They wondered where the month had gone.
I look over to the card mum sent me when she heard, it’s a cliché,
but it works.
‘Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.’
Love Lost. RIP. 7th December 2012 – 2nd July 2013.
Brief but beautiful.
Wishing you all love. In whatever shape you find it.
Peace be with you.
xxx
