Friday, April 1, 2016

His words

"I know there's no such thing as forever, and there will always be endings. Miniature deaths. Practice rounds for the final ending, but let us not be morbid now... now... because life is to know love, and to know its slow peel away from my bones.

I will miss these people as one who misses strangers with whom one has small talk on the train every day, their lack of presence causing but a mere ripple in the totality of a life, but the ripple is perceived, and felt, all the same.

I should be missing her the most, but perhaps I've had enough lead time to prep for the separation. We both knew it was coming; who initiated it, and why, was and remains irrelevant, because endings, even when seen approaching from a distance, hurt all the same. They resonate, they ripple, they reverberate out into the years ahead, long after the ending arrived, and made itself known, and caused the usual, predictable damage.

Damage. What damage? I feel fine. I'm okay. This is what I wanted. The relationship needed to end, and here we are... at this hour, with her somewhere, and I'm here in her apartment - our apartment for a moment in time.

Damage. What damage? My heart is not broken. I am not alone. I am not facing the future without the hope, the prospect, of yet another partnership, perhaps the final partnership, the one I've required this entire time.

Damage. Yes, there is damage. I've had to watch her sob and feel powerless to console her - the villain can't be the hero at the same time.

I wish it didn't have to end like this. Like - what?

Like - with palpable silence, the kind which makes one wonder if she's invisible if she even exists in his eyes, while he seems completely detached from that which he cares for so deeply - according to him.

Like - with desperation, with pleas to stay, even if the words were never said; beggary shows itself on the skin, wafting from the pores, much like alcoholism.

Like - I've paid closer attention to the older black men on the train, on the platform pissing, crossing the street desperate for something, sitting in cafes, all without wedding bands, some without kids, and I'm scared to death of growing old and alone.

Endings make room for beginnings. I see the tiny cycles occurring from day to day. How the end of a relationship is a rupture, a split, and maybe something new will grow forth from the fracture - or not - but I tend to the wound anyway. The wound is mine. It is a new geographical point on my body. A new city on my skin.

The end is never silent. It is near silent, almost pitch black. I think of the train tunnel leading into Penn Station, the way it's completely dark, but not quite as a few lights whiz by. The steel wheels thump and hum underneath the train, and strangers whisper behind you, or rustle newspapers, or stand as their backs creak and knees creak. The end reminds me of a body slowly aging, and randomly hurting; it is the cognitive dissonance of knowing this is the end, even as the train pulls into the station, and with an exhale, you see life is head of you, still.


Launna said...

Poignant.... words that truly capture the essence of losing or someone and trying to rationalize why... very sad...I too look to the future, I'm not sure I'll trust to live again though...

Anonymous said...

When is your next post tho