How she's doing
I wonder about that girl who touched my life in so many ways. When we started talking, she was so strong and so brave. She made me smile on the inside and the outside in so many ways. I loved talking to her more than anything else. I thought we'd go on like that. I hoped we'd go on like that. But we didn't go on like that.
Sadness crept into our conversations. I noticed it slowly at first. We both talked about our personal sadness. I imagined myself holding her tight, never letting go. That's all I wanted to do. I wanted her to know that she was loved and everything would be okay. If she cried in my arms, I would kiss her neck and whisper, "I love you, and I always will."
I couldn't be what I wanted to be for her. I couldn't be anything. If there was a sideline to her life, I wasn't even there. I was further away than that; I couldn't even watch, much less partake. My hands were tied. I watched helplessly as the wolves surrounded her and took her down. I cried out for her to fight but she didn't have any strength left.
In my mind I can see her, curled up in the fetal position on her bed, sadly fingering her memories, her heart breaking, leaking the love of her life over her sheets and down to the floor, all the way to the basement and out the door. If her blood could crawl down the street, it would – right to his doorstep. And he would see her finally and know the great damage he's done.
She took my words like medicine for a time. She couldn't get enough. Until she'd had enough. And then all the words in the world couldn't change a thing. Something shifted, something went missing, and we were not the same. If all I could offer her were my words across such great a distance, and if we fell silent, then we had come to the end. And so we died, slowly fading from each other's minds and hearts.
Love is the strangest thing I've ever seen. Time cannot assail it. Sometimes it afflicts us, sometimes it leaves us, and sometimes it steps right into the sacred places we've been keeping for that perfect person. Love is a gift, and sometimes a bitter, bitter affliction.
When she's awake at night, I wonder where her mind goes. When she's with her children, what does she hear on the wind as it blows? Their laughter cuts through her thoughts, surely, and she's brought back. When she sees the love of her life, does her heart cry out, heaving and straining against her chest? Does she want to tell him things she can't tell anyone else, things only he would understand? Does she want to reach out and grab his strong arms, let them close in on her, take her breath away, and imagine nothing's changed?
I'm left wondering. I think about her a lot. I hope she's okay as she goes about her days. I'm sure she stays busy. I'm sure those around her love her very much, so I'm not worried. Even if she was in my life, I know I would miss her, so I'm not even asking to be in her life; it wouldn't change a thing for me. If she was gone only a day, I would miss her just the same. And I realized I can't comfort her like I wanted to all those months ago. Something rose up between us, and I think I know what it is. Regardless, she's left my life, so my endless reaching out has reached its end. Someday it will make sense, and I'll see the wisdom of its ending.
I know this ending is necessary. I know there can never be that beautiful beginning that she needs until I let go. For a moment, we were perfect. In my head and in my heart, everything felt right. I know I can't go back and make anything right; maybe that's my lesson. I believe my heart just wanted the best for her. I prayed that it would all work out for her and her babies. I would have done anything to make that happen, and God is my witness.
So, how's she doing? I see her as the strong woman she surely is and has been. Through so much pain and humiliation, she's been strong. Through so many lonely nights with so many poisonous thoughts in her head, she kept going. With so many reasons to quit, she persevered, persisted, made good, made a life – a beautiful life. How's she doing? She's slipped, but she hasn't fallen. Beautiful people make beautiful things come of awful things.
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