Thursday, December 6, 2012

for the pain I would not trade relief

ph: Bimbi Gardel

I met him when I was 16, he was 21. I remember feeling him look at me. I'd never known that feeling before. It didn't take long for us to begin talking. He was everything I loved... music, art, poetry. Within a couple of months I was his. He was mine. My heart beat for him, regardless of who said it shouldn't. How could something this right, be wrong?

I had to make a choice. My family or him. My family that had always loved me, never failed to give me all that they could. My family that would go to hell and back for me. They had protected me from the world. Now they wanted me to choose. I chose him.

Thrown out of the house I seemed to make it. Renting a couch in my friend's apartment for 200 dollars per month. I spent most my time in his bed anyway. He, in his own way was young, he was crazy. For five years we were on again/off again until I left without a warning to to another state. And eventually won back the affection of my family.

My life started over. I wanted it to. I needed it to. I left the past behind and more than anything wanted to move forward with the future. But the problem wasn't something I could run from. Wherever I went, there I was with my heart in hand. Relationships, marriages, alcohol, friends, careers... nothing stopped my love for him.

We saw each other only once. Eleven years after we first made love. We were adults. We were grown. We were still in love. Again, forbidden, I had to choose my family and our whirlwind affair came to an abrupt end.

Fourteen years later I listen to the songs he's written for me. I ache with the loneliness left by not having him close. I don't have hope for new love because he defines what my love is. No other can touch me with his hands or look at me with his eyes. No other can hit the keys, strum the guitar, or sweetly sing to me. For every thing that was bad, for every thing that was wrong, my love hasn't changed. For the pain I would not trade relief. I'd rather live with the ache of not having him then having never had the experience of our love.
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