Thoughts

meant to be a letter

 

          It’s a shame, truly a crying shame. I saw you from across the yard, standing alone, your shoes untied, your hair sticking straight up but only in the back, what a scraggly mess you were, but I still thought you were beautiful. I think you were busy, fumbling around with the mail you gathered from your mailbox, you dropped it, I believe, but you didn’t curse or look around in embarrassment, only a playful sigh before you bent over to pick it up again. It was in that silly, yet endearing, moment that I knew I wanted to know you.

            We met each other in the Café Chic on the corner of our street. I remember this is when you first saw me, recognized me as your neighbor, and shot it down as nothing. But when our eyes locked, I saw you so much more than that, a being with so much potential in life; I could not shake the thought.

            I sat beside you in that little coffee shop, of course I acted nonchalant and said I just wanted conversation, but how I wanted so much more than that. And through that conversation I came to know you, as of who you were, and still are—everything I had imagined.

            You were kind enough to walk me home, just across yours, how bashful you were, I peered into the eyes of a charming, little boy, and I felt just as vulnerable. You innocently waved me farewell and so, we went our separate ways. I wondered if I was still on your mind when you finally walked in through your door.

            We became friends over time, and then eventually more. I could see our future as readily as I could see outside my window or inside of my refrigerator. I saw us dating, awkward moments which only we would share, those special moments of tacit understanding that was bonded between us and us only. I envisioned our wedding, on a private beach, beautiful and sunny and with loved ones. I saw our honeymoon in the depths of Alaska, secluded and breathtaking, just you and me, as I had always hoped it would be.

            I imagined our children, both of us busy in our careers, but we found time to be a family. We raised them to the best of our ability and knew they would turn out to be upstanding citizens and role models. They were beautiful, and unique, and funny; they had personality and character; they were intelligent, moral, and sensible. We were all part of an unbreakable chain, that of which is called family, and we’d live in elation and success. We would enjoy the spoils of our profit, monetarily and gratifyingly. It could only blossom.

            And perhaps one day, when our children were out making their own contributions to the world, we would finally retire and settle down. We could reminisce together, just like we had when we were young, and we could truly enjoy where life had led us together. Our path was not easy, occasionally painstaking, but in the end we would know that we turned out okay, that there is nowhere we could imagine ourselves other than here, we would be content, and ready for whatever life threw at us. We were the dynamic duo, with you I was strong, I was rational, I was fortunate, I was happy.

            It’s just a shame that in these three, short years, we could only break the surface.

            You came home late one night, disgruntled and distraught, steaming over the world about you. You were not where you wanted to be, but far from it, and I realized you were the vital part of me that was missing.

            That bond we had shared had been lost along the way. We bickered like married couples, but acted nowhere near. We knew deep down love was buried somewhere, but digging it out became a larger feat each and every day. Walls were slowly built, towering above us and caving us in, until there was no use trying to climb it. We were only afraid of being alone. We were afraid of losing that familiarity. Perhaps my need for normalcy was my greatest fallacy.

            What is quaint is that I never saw it coming. I never knew how fast something could come tumbling and crashing down, until you were buried so deep in the rubble and remnants that you threw in the towel and remained buried. We had gone through so much to be together, to make things work; I thought someone would have to pry me away from you. I had never imagined an ending like this.

            Yet, I will always remember you for who you were. I have known love, and wish to know it again. I leave you with no regrets or hard feelings, just a feeling of disappointment, of shame, that we could not exert the extra force to keep something so special and sacred, and allow it to thrive. Perhaps I spent too long wishing, rather than sorting out reality.

          Just know that I will not be there anymore. I won’t be the one you wake up to. I won’t be the one that smiles at you across the room. I won’t be the one to receive your kisses. I won’t be the one to hug you in your times of need. I won’t be the one administering you advice. I won’t be the mother of your children. I won’t be your wife. I won’t be there any longer to tell you that your shoes are untied. Be careful not to fall on your face.