The morning after

Today is the day after. The day after she broke my heart again. The day after she told me she does not read these words. It's just as well. So many of them are raw, ugly, malignant. But, I had hoped she would see the loveliest of them — the love letters. Those were bright spots amidst the carnage. Those symbolized her in my life. 

My blog is many things. But mostly, it's like a little kid trying to put together a puzzle. He rearranges, turns things around, gets up, walks away, gets angry, laughs, tries to stand on his head, all to figure out how the pieces fit together. It's kind of a schizophrenic approach, I admit. It's just me trying to figure things out. This woman I love is by far the most puzzling piece.

Today I didn't go to the store early as I normally do. Today I stayed in bed, too depressed to even think of stepping out onto the cold floor and fumbling around in the dark to start a day I just wished would go away. It's one blow after another. And yesterday may have been the final blow. So, I'll remember February 8 as the day my divorce was finalized. And a year later, the woman I love told me she has severed all communication. For the record, she was sending this via an email account she apparently has almost abandoned, replying to an email sent 9 days earlier. It would be more effective to send her an actual letter than an email.

What my gut told me was true. She's done. It's really, truly over. My mind concurs. My heart refused to believe. Therein lies the trouble. I have the most recalcitrant heart, apparently. It's stuck on her with a love that knows no end. It's just as well, I suppose, because what would today look like if my heart had given up too?

She has not spared my feelings. She made it clear she doesn't want anything from me. There's nothing I can do to change that. What was once a concept — getting over her — is now a necessity. I'll have to somehow explain to my heart to accept this fresh defeat. And then I'll have to retrain my heart so it will never love like this again — so carelessly, so flagrantly, so boldly, so stupidly. 

This is a hard month. It is often the coldest month. It's short, yet brutal. And I have so many other things I'm dealing with. There's work. There are personal things. There's homework that I cannot avoid. My life is chaos, constantly changing, forever unstable. The one thing that probably should change is something I cannot change. I cannot change how I feel about this dear woman, even though she slays me. 

No, I don't blame her. She's doing what is healthy for her. I just have to deal with it. I will miss thinking of her as I write these words, and eventually, I think I will write for her again. The things in my chest are too beautiful to contain, and they simply will not die or fade away or slumber. And she is simply too beautiful to stop loving. The morning after has been hard. I cried much of last night. But it's all my doing. I love in a way that is irreversible, unchangeable. It is a love even the receiver cannot destroy. It's beautiful, in a way, but ultimately, pointless. So, hello, new world. You look an awful lot like the old world.