Heartbroken, or maybe just Broken
Four Stories that Make One
The first was a surprise. Stumbling, tripping, falling, into love with a russian princess, as my mother would come to call her. She fit into my life, my family, my friends, my life seamlessly. It was as if everyone but me breathed a quiet "yes" in reply to the choice. But I couldn't do it. I tried, and gripped, and grit my teeth, but I couldn't. I thought you were stronger. It feels like I betrayed them in the end, and I still feel horrible about it. An edge of something still hangs between us, and I'm not certain we'll ever see eye to eye again. There is a level of intimacy that, once you cross, you can't ever go back.
The second was constraint. Held down, wrapped in the tangled web of keyed entry and exit, on an island far away, in a place where they claim to speak english, in a constant state of drinking and excess. There, I lost myself. Became lost in the dark pools of her eyes, the edge of her laugh, and the curve of her hips. This is the story that is a secret, that I'm not allowed to talk about or even whisper her name despite the fact that nothing really happened. It still digs deeply, despite the fact that even now I don't understand why I love her.
The third was easy. Two painful ends in a row, and I was starting to show signs of wear and tear. And a little gardener, with short hair, dangerously sexual and emotionally wounded, came out of nowhere and grasped my hand. I grasped back, hard, and we were together. But it lacked romance, I kept her at arm's length. Never again, I'd whisper to myself in the middle of the night, I won't give up my independence, my isolation, again. I am alone and free. And, for a time, it was good. We laughed, talked, fucked, ate, and slept together. I was reliable. She'd cry about other boys and apologise for being so hard to deal with, and I laughed with a twinge of despair and say But honey, you're so easy. and she was. Her hurt paled in comparison to what I'm used to dealing with that supporting her completely was like carrying a feather pillow. Maybe, for a time, I was really happy, but it wasn't because of the relationship. She'd ask me if I'd ever not be broken, whether there would be a time when there wasn't some emotional upheaval in my life. Not the first time someone's said that to me. Then it ended, because she picked someone else. And I don't fault her for it, because... it's what she wanted.
The fourth is now. Words have run out. I could tell the story again and again, in different ways for different ears, but it doesn't help. The simple truth is that a little plum girl wandered into my life and stole my heart. I want it back, or I want it dead. But really, all those are lies. I just want her.
Currently Listening: Emilie Simon - Self-titled (full album)