Sometimes I swear it's easier
when I haven't seen you in months.
But now, in the middle of this solemnly
solitary night,
knowing that you were here this morning,
I can't help but ache for you.
I can't help but wish you were curled
around me like you were when the
alarm went off at 4 a.m., before we rushed
to arrive late at the airport, barely in time
for your flight.
The dog barked when you got out of the car
and whined as we drove away.
I would've stayed to be with you, you know.
I would have compromised everything just
to have you. And when you wouldn't let me,
I was sure that it was over.
"Don't be so self-sacrificing," you said. "Don't
you have dreams of your own?" I swore that
I did, but in retrospect, my only dream was you.
I left because you wouldn't let me stay, convinced
that if you loved me you would want me, determined
not to compromise myself for someone unworthy.
(Who taught me that someone had to ask me to
compromise in order to be "worthy"?)
Of course, once you tasted the aphrodisiac of my dissent,
of my so-called "independence," you wanted me more
than ever. Funny how that happens.
So here we are.
The moon is full and you are two thousand miles away
again, with another seven hundred dollar plane ticket just
to see me in a few months.
("Could you have possibly moved somewhere further away?")
And I wanted to tell you what it is like to
go to bed alone after nights with you. I ache. I toss
and turn so much that the dog growls in annoyance
before choosing the hardwood floor over my
feather mattress.
The room, the house, the bed. . . it all feels
overwhelmingly empty.
And amidst all of this emptiness, I feel completely full.
No, not with you, not with love or passion, or some other
form of a Hallmark card. You do not complete me. It
took me so long, years even, to realize how much I don't
need you. It is awfully liberating to wake up and realize
that I am enthralled by our daily phone calls. (Leave it
to the English language to re-frame my fears–I never
knew that dictionaries could be so therapeutic).
I can't help but notice how you look at me these days
There are dreams in your eyes, just like
there always have been, and I can see myself in them,
just like I always could. But now, where there once was
awkward silence and averted contact, I see you seeing
yourself in my eyes, my dreams,
the dreams I didn't used to know I had.
So thank you. Thank you for not letting me depend on you.
Thank you for loving me from a distance while I learned to
depend on myself. And thank you for being the person that
I fell in love with all over again, when I finally became myself.
But now. . .
we're
unfortunately
together
forever
apart
punctuate at your own discretion
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