Sunday, December 11, 2005
On Love and Being a Grown Up
In high school, I knew I was in love. But I wasn't me yet. I wasn't done. And neither was he. Now, we write each other occasional terse emails. asking for addresses to send Christmas cards or for general life updates. I know I could pass him on the street now, and smile and go have a cup of coffee. I thought he was a bad person, many years ago, after he didn't love me anymore. I was wrong. He just wasn't finished yet.In college, I knew I was in love. But I wasn't me yet. I wasn't done. He was wonderful to me, and exactly what I could never appreciate. He's married now, I think. We don't send Christmas cards or general life updates. I know if I passed him on the street, he would walk the other way. I was a bad person, many years ago, when I knew I didn't love him anymore. It was never him. I wasn't finished yet.
As a grown up, I knew I was in love. I am me now. I am done. I will send a Christmas card, and when I do, I will pay extra postage for the weight of things unsaid. I am not with him, nor he with me. Instead, I talk to him, tell him I'm thinking of cutting my hair. Try to remind him that he hasn't seen my hair in a while, that he might be concerned for its well-being. He says nothing. I haven't been particularly bad or good; neither has he. We have been ourselves. It has not been enough. We are finished, apart. We are finished, together. As a grown-up, I reserve the right to never admit it.
for Lizzie: for never giving up on this stupid thing. I'm back, dear.
Heather at 7:46 PM
