I've not written at length about anything not work-related in just over 22 months. It has been 22 months since she exiled me from her world. 22 months since I burned a lifetime's worth of journals; deleted, letter-by-letter, 12 years' worth of blogs. It has been 22 months since I manually destroyed every deeply personal written account that revealed my inner self, every poem, every philosophical treatise that challenged the world to defy me, every written hope and dream. Twenty-two months since I dragged those muses (Calliope and Erato), sobbing and begging, out into the coldest and darkest nights of human experience and set them on fire.
It has been 22 months of an agonizingly tortuous emotional hell.
It has been 24 months since I last saw her, spoke to her, in person.
It was last Saturday, that, after a good friend's advice to bet it all on a single gamble, I reached out to her. I had spent 10 months methodically, agonizingly, ponderously waging an internal debate to do just that. Never wanting to frighten, or threaten, her.
She, exiled me. I, betrayed her trust. It was a small thing. A harmless picture of us. But, to her, it was everything. A harmless picture that carried with it so much potential for harm and shame, for her. She, being older than I. She, being once the wife of someone who figured prominently in my world. She, being in a position where such relationships are frowned upon, for women. Yet, for men, they are par for the course. I didn't respect that enough, then. To me, it mattered not. I'd have proudly defied the world to challenge my love for her.
She waited a few days before responding. Yet, respond she did. As I was on the verge of abandoning any hope that she had even the slightest interest in communicating with me. She replied.
She is not yet ready. But not because of me, or what happened between us. She must ready herself for me, as I deserve, she said.
In that, I read hope.
I miss her.
I want nothing less than ALL of her. ALL of the good, and the bad. ALL of the broken, and the unbroken. ALL that is beautiful, and that is ugly. ALL that is rare and priceless. ALL that is common and worthless.
I am prepared to accept, only her friendship. Nothing more, if that is all she is willing to offer me.
I will accept, nothing less than that. I made a promise to her. Before I began my pursuit of her. I said, "No matter what happens between us. I promise, I will always be your friend."
When she exiled me, she took that promise away from me. She said, "My true friends would have never done such a thing." And with it, went my honor, my self-image, my confidence. My whole world, turned to ash in a single text message.
I disagreed with her on that point. Though my disagreement was never uttered. Instead, I acquiesced to her accusation. Offered my contrition. Shattered by the realization that I had hurt a woman I had loved more strongly than I realized. I was angry with her.
I do not blame her. I never did. She was recovering from an emotional trauma I had not given her enough time to come to terms with. She did dispense with me too easily.
We both made mistakes. We both reacted too rashly.
I would stand alone against ALL of the armies of men, in her name. And I would stand victorious!
A silly sentiment. But I feel it ALL the same.
Now, the opportunity to see and speak with her approaches. I hope for the best. I have prepared for the worst. I will lay ALL of my cards on the table. And some of hers. Our poker game will become a game of 52 card pick-up. Maybe, she will lay ALL of her cards on that table. In the end, she will have to decide what to do with this man and ALL of those cards.
God, I miss her. This could really hurt...
...but, I must wait a little while longer. My mind alight with the possibilities. Then, once more unto the breach...