Unevenly Interwoven

14 years later and I still have a “my entire body is going numb and I can’t think straight for the life of me” reaction to seeing you with another girl.  Not that she’s the one…your one.  But it hurts.  It hurts like a bruise hurts when you touch it again.  Radiating pain.  Not like the fresh sting of an initial blow.  But a dull pain you try to curse away as it takes over your entire body…from your head, to your fingertips, all the way to your weak knees and electric toes.

It’s sad, isn’t it? When the one you want doesn’t want you.

How do you reconcile the feelings? The longing.  The moments of pure rationalization when you’re on top of the world, knowing your life is about to take off and you’ll be happy… someday…soon.  But waiting for that happiness can become your lifestyle.  Just waiting for it all to start, to get better, to take off, to have meaning, to give you the sparkle in your eye and the bounce in your step you know you crave, desire…you know you deserve.

And that’s where I am.  Where I have been.  Sure, I have had moments of happiness.  Ok, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and a couple months at a time.  But they were fleeting.  Never final.  Never lasting.  And the questions start…they taunt me.  My poor little, overwhelmed brain, the one that can’t let me sleep, can’t allow me to focus…bubbling over with thoughts like…”Do I expect too much?”…”Are other people just satisfied by simple things?” …”Should I be more like them?”…”Am I too picky?”…”Do I want or expect to much?”…”Are my dreams and desires unrealistic?”

I can’t help it.  There’s the “put yourself out there”…stop waiting, start living concept that I try to embrace.  But it means nothing.  It means nothing when all I want is a pillow to put my head on.  A hand to hold.  A body to lay next to.  A little girl whose hair I can brush, who I can sing to, play with, and teach.  Someone who I can spend my days with…and consider my greatest accomplishment.

Our history is interwoven in knots and snags and uneven bumps and lumps that are rough and awkward to the touch.  Yet looking back on it, it appears painless.  Whole.  Perfect.  Certainly the opposite of what my instinctive reactions were as I lived it.  What about our future? Will it be yet another uneven weave?  Will it be painful? Will it be beautiful? Will it be a masterpiece worthy of exposing to the world?

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