A rather good friend of mine has come to the conclusion that I was in love and all of this has been the aftermath of heartbreak.
I don’t think I disagree but, more importantly, I’m not sure how I feel about it.
I don’t remember the last time I said, in a relationship, “I love you” and meant it. I’ve used it as a giveaway; not throwaway, but a calculated gift offering (and yes, I recognize how twisted that sounds but I’ve never pretended to be perfect – in fact, I’ve admitted to my many flaws). It was sincerely meant in the offering but not so much sincerity in the words themselves.
In this last one, I most definitely held it back because I justified in my head it was simply endorphins and it was, pick your poison, “too early”, “not reasonable”, “too easy”, etc. to be true.
Needless to say, it is difficult for me to handle the thought that this sneaked up on me and knocked me over the head. It is difficult to believe that someone as cagey as I am was caught so unawares. My friend said it’s because I’m so out of touch with my emotions that even though all the alarm signals had been going off, full force, blaring and flashing red lights, I was ignorant of it.
Perhaps I was. The lies we can tell ourselves… He asked me, directly, was I in love with her, and I…could not say the words. But, I also couldn’t deny it.
I couldn’t deny it. Therefore, the only conclusion is–
But what am I to do with this new-found knowledge? She has no real words to give me, no feelings has she ever, since the inevitable ending, shared with me; she might as well be deaf and I, dumb. There is no convincing here, there is no discussion–there is no reconciliation.
There is only this terrible knowledge that I may have squandered it all. For the first time, I was…(I can’t even type the words).
And I may have wasted it because I was blind.
And I don’t think it matters a wit that I can now see.