Wednesday, August 7, 2013
thanks for the lesson
Photo via: Marija Strajnic
I've been in California for a little less than a month now. Everything is still so surreal, but the one thing I know is that I'm still lonely. I knew I would be. If I've learned anything at all, it's that our problems follow us wherever we go. I'm not saying I'm unhappy, it's just that being in a new place makes you want to explore with someone you love and when you don't have someone, their absence is magnified. In my case, I miss you (or most likely just the thought of you) in my quiet times when I'm not trying to catch the train or plan a weekend activity; mostly when I'm walking the city or looking at a particularly beautiful view of the Bay. And I think my mind only drifts to you because there hasn't been anyone else, even though our relationship never encountered comparable beautiful moments in its short and uneventful time span. I go to you because there is no one else to go to and, because of that, I romanticize you unfairly.
I toyed with the idea of online dating again, just to meet new people in the area. Last night, I finally did it, but I'm pessimistic. Isn't it sad that I was just hoping to see your face? The face that broke my heart almost immediately and kept breaking it continuously for more than a year? I guess that's what selfishness does; not just on your part, but on mine as well. Nothing good at all came from what happened to us (or what happened to me), but I still see your face and care about what you think of me. How does that work? How does someone with a child, a daughter no less, do that to a woman? I was under the assumption that a single father with a young daughter may have some heightened awareness as to the impact of their actions in regards to the opposite sex, but I assumed wrong. I just pray (and I don't ever pray) that no man ever treats your daughter like you treated me because it would break her heart and make her cry. I'm someone's daughter if that puts anything into perspective for you.
So yes, I fell for you. Not hard or head over feet, but I fell accordingly. I fell responding to the actions and signals you put out there for me to reciprocate. I'd fallen harder and more passionately and wildly before, but I was growing up and liked the comfort of what you laid down for me. But the exact hour I rested my guard down, you slipped out the floor from underneath me. For the next year, I grappled to restore my footing and create a stable foundation for myself yet again. I tried to date and date like it was the latest hipster trend just to forget you, but I cut everyone out the moment I realized I was just trying to mask the hurt I carried. So I stayed alone. There was really no point if I wouldn't give anyone their rightful chance. I think I might still be at that point, but hopefully just a little less so. For my sake at least. There's still something in me that has optimism. I mean, there must be since I decided to move 3,100 miles away. That must say something, right?
Goodbye and take care. I doubt I shall ever hear from you again, let alone see your face again. I know you moved on ages ago since, from your perspective, you didn't have much to move on from. You may even be seeing someone since you decided to stop responding to me and made up excuses on how you never received my messages. And the fact that you couldn't say goodbye to me. I think that may have broke my heart all over again. I didn't just move to a new apartment, I moved across the country and you couldn't say goodbye. Two-weeks notice and I barely heard from you. I can't really say I expected any different. It followed perfectly the path our foundation laid out -- no proper goodbye, no closure, no nothing. The last image I have of you is walking away from me without so much as a wave. I think then I knew that it'd be the last time. It's fitting now.
If you ever read this, I hope this finds you well and happy and content in life. I hope you are better able to deal with life's low blows and swift kicks; I sure hope I am. Either way, take care. Thanks for the lesson.