All of us have our illusions about ourselves. Mine is that I am an unemotional person, with the strength to be firm and not to feel excessively. There are many reasons I want to be like this, but those are not pertinent to the thrust of this post.
Today, my ex messaged me. The message was mundane, but it hit me in the solar plexus and carried all the air out of my lungs. I haven’t heard from him in a while, because we don’t keep in touch, but I have often wondered about him.
The texts were not exceptional in any way, simply further disentanglement of a 3+ year relationship. I had returned some of his things to him, forgetting others, and now he was doing the same.
I wanted to weep at this, even though lots of time has passed – 6 months as a matter of fact – and there is no doubt that the relationship is over. This prosaic and necessary interaction isn’t laced with any undertones. It is a transaction, pure and simple.
And yet, I wished to hear about his pain. I wished to hear that he missed me. I willed the words forming on the screen to be a declaration of love not dead. Hope trembled in my constricting chest of a desire to knit our relationship, us, our families, back together.
None of that happened. I am not surprised. In a relationship where I always made the difficult first moves: of love, of reconciliation, and more, I am not surprised that while my heart beats painfully against my ribs, there is blankness from him.
The fact is, by his own admission, that I always loved him, love him, more than he loved me.