Promise Me.

14 Nov

I want your absolutes that I will be loved again.

I met him at 15 or so, my heart soared then, unrequited for a few years, and even then, when it was, melancoly and half warmed, I accepted a half cocked version that wasn’t what I had read or seen or heard about. Figuring it closer to reality I took it and ran, muttering to myself “he loves you. it’s ok. It’s fated!”

Except the rub. I don’t believe in fate. I didn’t then and I really don’t now, instead believing that I took what I needed at the time, a body to hold me, words to whisper wet in my ears, someone, something to come home to instead of an empty bed and a mirror I had to face on my own.

We accept things through a lifetime. Things we perhaps wouldn’t accept out of hand but sitting atop a pile of yesterday’s and whatfor’s we just take and walk free. Until we sit down and really look at what we have, or what we don’t have, and realize that without passion, without a victory to be proud of, without someone truly and willingly listening to our days and stories, there’s nothing there. There is nothing more than an emptiness more profound than that which we find at the end of our mirrors.

We end with years of nothing. Years of tired weighted glances we’re just too exhausted to pursue. Years of half measures, of shrugs, and arguing and tears and screaming and black hands. We end these years panting and lustless, worn from running to keep up with the myth we’ve created for each other. We’re better on paper than we’ll ever be in real life, better in the mists of memory, tied to TV Shows and records.

But promise me I’ll feel that again, that silk shudder in my chest, across my breasts, the goosepimples inside my elbows and ears that made me quiver, promise me that someone will glance my way and convince me I’m just a bird on a draft, floating effortlessly upwards. Promise me love. Promise me magic. Promise me songs in the morning, new gifts at dawn, kisses at twilight, ghosts at night. Promise me this won’t be forever, this ache, this haunting where a person was, were someone should be. I’m better paired, tethered to a creature who knows the other side of me, filling the hole that’s already begun to clear.

I’m not meant to be alone, not for real. Promise me I won’t be.

Advertisements

15 Responses to “Promise Me.”

  1. Kelly November 14, 2009 at 12:11 am #

    I promise. Love and lust and desire, belief seeks itself out.

  2. slouchy November 14, 2009 at 12:27 am #

    I promise, too.

  3. ifbyyes November 14, 2009 at 1:13 am #

    I guarantee it.

    But there’s a catch.

    You have to make it happen.

    Finding real love and compatibility is like finding a really great restaurant. You have to be willing to keep your standards high, and keep trying new places until you find the one that you love above all else.

    Those who think “well, I’m hungry and it’s here” end up being disappointed.

    Those who think “I’ll never find what something delicious for the price I want” don’t look, and only find if they are very lucky.

    I have found that place.

    It’s a pasta joint that makes their own pasta. Their range of dishes is immense, and they are all unique and addictively delicious, and the servings are so frighteningly large that you end up carting home in a doggy bag and living off of for the next two days, all for 15 bucks.

    …I may have left my metaphor. Where was I going with this?

    Oh yeah, my husband’s good too.

  4. Missy November 14, 2009 at 1:39 am #

    Love the analogy of a restaurant! So true!

    Dear, you absolutely, honest-to-goodness, will love and be loved again. Promise!

  5. CharmingBitch November 14, 2009 at 4:25 am #

    Promise.

  6. Jennifer November 14, 2009 at 7:59 am #

    Of course!

  7. Marcy November 14, 2009 at 10:50 am #

    I can’t promise it, but I have confidence that it’s very likely indeed.

    The path between “settling” and “impossibly idealistic” is a fairly narrow one, it seems — but you’ve got your eyes open and your wits about you.

  8. raino November 14, 2009 at 12:25 pm #

    no promises cause what the hell do i know really. but you certainly have my hopes and prayers. that good enough … ?

  9. B November 14, 2009 at 12:37 pm #

    I wish I can promise you this as much as I wish I could promise myself. The other commenters are more optimistic that I am. I fear that I also might end up alone. Years of internet dating has taught me more about myself than love. The best you can hope for is that you can enjoy the ride, learn, laugh, and at the end of the day, be the kind of person you want to be.

  10. magpie November 14, 2009 at 1:58 pm #

    I hope that you will, I think that you will – can I promise? Really promise? Okay. I promise.

  11. Bad Mummy November 14, 2009 at 2:24 pm #

    I’d like to promise that, but 2+ years after leaving my ex I am – for the most part – happily single. Dating isn’t worth the trouble.

    There’s a lot to be said for spending some time alone, especially when you’ve spent the last decade with the same person. Figure out who YOU are, outside of a relationship.

  12. Shana November 14, 2009 at 9:10 pm #

    “I’m not meant to be alone, not for real. Promise me I won’t be.”

    Sadly, I don’t think anyone can promise that, for you or for anyone else. The most you can do is maximize your chances.

    One way to do so is to consider whether instead of a divorce (which is a pretty drastic cut-off), you and your husband could have a separation for 1 year or so. At the end of that time, you could decide whether you wanted a divorce or reunification. I’ve known 2 couples who have chosen this route and reunited, and a divorced friend who regrets that she did NOT do this (though she was the one who initiated the divorce).

    Since it sounds as though you and your husband still have such a good relationship, most importantly a good friendship, might this be a reasonable option?

  13. flutter November 15, 2009 at 12:59 am #

    Not only do I promise that you will be, I promise that you are.

  14. Vicki November 16, 2009 at 5:01 pm #

    My heart aches for you because I feel the same way right now. It’s too new for the possibilities of another to fill his place to seem real. This will also be my first Christmas single and I’m not sure how I will handle it. But I WILL handle it for my babies. I will make it happy for them even if there isn’t much money because they deserve the happiness. I can smile and laugh and love them wholeheartedly and make a great deal of the small things and it will be happy. I will save my tears for something more deserving because I’d rather be lonely than spend my holiday arguing with my “future ex-husband”.

  15. Quadelle November 18, 2009 at 12:51 am #

    It sounds like you’ve often been alone as part of a pair. Which is often the loneliest alone there can be. I suspect that being properly alone (romantically – not friendless, as you need not worry about the latter) could be a freeing and rewarding experience. If he’s been such a big part of your life for over 15 years there will be aspects of you that he’s overshadowed, parts of you left undiscovered, or undeveloped.

    Rushing into a new relationship (or even the search for the perfect restaurant – brilliant illustration by ifbyyes, btw) will leave those parts of you dormant. You will not come to know all of you because you’ll be too busy getting to know other(s). I think you’d actually quite like you if you had a bit of time to get properly acquainted with your own company.

    I also think Shana’s recommendation about having a separation is a good one. A lot can change in a year. You may even find yourself in Bad Mummy’s position and enjoy singledom too much to bother with dating. Wouldn’t that be cool? Right now you think you’re meant to be part of a pair because that’s the way it’s pretty much always been. But it’s not the only satisfying way to be.

    Whatever happens, I’m certain you will not be entirely alone, for you have friends who care and you have your girls. That’s far more than many have these days.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: