I tested the waters. And it went from scalding hot to freezing cold in the blink of an eye.
I admit, I was flattered by the attention – and so I gave attention back. It didn’t help that I so love the hunt (whatever side of it I’m on).
At first, I couldn’t get enough of it. Nearly everyday, I went out of my way to find ways for us to be together. A minute, an hour, an entire afternoon – it didn’t matter how long we had. All I cared about was that we were together. Sitting in companionable silence, I would have firecrackers going off in my heart and in my head, and – I have to admit – in the deeper parts of me. Whenever we so much as grazed each other’s fingertips, I felt like a current would pass between us that I had not felt in a long time.
Eventually, we worked out an agreement – a conceptual framework of us – where we freely admitted some things and consented to be kept in the dark about others. It was a way of forcing the issue with a velvet crowbar. But then, things started going faster and faster and faster. Where I used to want like a forest fire, I began to burn like the sun.
It was inevitable, I suppose, that the fire soon enveloped us both.
Thankfully, I didn’t let it consume us. I held back and the sensation of delayed indeterminacy – so close to being resolved that one time – returned and doubled in power. I thought for sure that it would eventually lead us to a better place.
But it didn’t. I don’t know about the other way around, but I started to see the flaws. Maybe it was because I was starting to invest in it, that I slowly but surely came to realize that if I continued down the road I was on, it would lead to nothing but heartbreak. It dawned on me that I was in a race to see whose heart would get broken first.
And then last night, after a long wait apart, we found ourselves in each other’s orbit again. I had thought that there would be more feeling to it, but I couldn’t help but keep looking at my watch. The stories that used to make me laugh now just made me cringe; the tourette’s I once found so charming now only grated; the hide-and-seek that made me want more, now only made me want out.
And at the end of the night, goodbyes were said without remorse. Call me a romantic – because I am – it didn’t sit right with me. The spark – as was tentatively mentioned a short while before the goodbyes – seemed to have gone and if things were to continue, it would be only be fueled by the memory of that spark. That, to me, seemed a poor thing to have.
Strangely, that wasn’t the end of it. The end came when I learned that past associations would not be severed. There, I feel, I was being unreasonable. But who can reason with the heart anyway? It was unacceptable, and so the night ended in a mixture of lust and disappointment and hurt.
I hardly slept a wink thinking about how to end everything.
Morning came and brought with it the kind of tenderness I had so craved the night before. But it was too late. Now, the melancholy in my heart is, I think not for the severing of ties, but in grieving for those weeks that were spent under cherry blossoms.
The branches are bare now, and memories and murmured assurances cannot caress my cheeks the way the blossoms once did.
Dear Angela, I stepped off the cliff but now, I managed to hang on to the edge. Now begins the long climb back. I can only hope that the ground I find when I get back is as solid as it used to be.