How is that one man, who at first is a stranger, can touch your heart so deeply,
So gently,
So perfectly,
In the purest way you’ve ever experienced?
How can one hug suddenly become the catalyst to the affection that makes feel the most held in all of your life?
How can one small touch of his hand become your comfort?
One voice, one tender heart, one set of eyes looking right through you, and instantly your world is completely at ease?
A stranger!
Can become your lover
The one you don’t ever want to let go of
And who doesn’t want to let go of you.
But then,
He does.
He
Lets
Go.
And just as quickly as he entered the depths of your soul — now he’s forever gone!?
I don’t quite know what to do with this type of grief, yet.
I’m used to mourning death, in all of its finality, the way a life often ends abruptly, without warning.
But when someone still exists on the earth, and it is decided that parting ways from each other is best, the pain feels eerie and surreal, almost unnatural.
And in some ways, it just feels wrong.
How is he continuing to wander this world without choosing me?
How long will it take for him to forget the sound of my voice?
When will it all fade into the back edges of his beautiful mind?
How? How could we love with this much love and choose to walk away from it?
I know why, I do.
But what if the whys of leaving were not worth the cost of losing the depth of connection we shared?
Sometimes, when I think back on it all, it feels as if he had been trying to say goodbye to me since the moment we met.
Until something took hold, underneath the fear, underneath the trauma.
A connection of souls that even he struggled to part with.
And for me, I think I have been trying to avoid that goodbye since the moment we met.
Holding on so tight because I had finally found someone who truly saw me, who got me, who held space for all that I am.
Who would want to say goodbye to that?
And yet, I’ve never said that word to someone so many times.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Again and again and again.
Over and over.
Chasing his memory less and less with each one.
Bearing it. Holding it. Feeling it.
Did we try to make it something it was never meant to be, and thus lost any chance of future friendship?
Or were we meant to fall into the messiest kind of love anyone can fall, the kind where you don’t really know what you’re doing, or what you want, or what you need, but you’re pulled in by gentle love,
So that all of it could be brought to the surface to heal?
I don’t know that answer, I don’t know a lot of things, but I do know that I don’t want to ever forget him.
The way he looked at me.
The way he held me.
The way he loved me.
I want to remember what it feels like to look into his eyes and to know that he’s looking right back into mine with the same kind of soul-embodied love.
I really don’t want to let go —
But I have grasped at his anxious body for far too long, now.
Reaching, reaching for someone who needs to move, to dance, to wander off without me.
To find his own way.
And so do I.
But I don’t want him to forget me, either.
I want him to feel my love in his bones, the love that sees his worth and sees value in all that he is.
I want all of the pain to be worth it.
I want him to remember that I touched his soul.
In the end, though, we must surrender it all.
Every ounce, every bit.
Every single tear that was shed, bathing amongst the vast oceans, among the memories, mixed in with all of the world’s sadness.
Every seemingly special moment now behind us, never to be lived again in the same way.
I wish I had been more present to it.
To the feeling of his warmth.
To the sound of his breath.
It breathes in me, now.
I am forever changed.