Too late, too gone, too wrong

The following story got related to me by the male protagonist. I for one thought things like this only occurred in movies. So I present to you a story that has no real happily ever after. A story of what closure looks like when we try to out run it.

There she was dressed in white. Radiant and breathtaking. Every bit of her oozed happiness. She looked at him adoringly, held his hand ever so tightly. A smile turned the corners of her mouth every time they caught each other’s eyes. That day, in that room, wedding bells were ringing and a love everlasting was to be sealed.

HE took to the right side of the room. On the very last row. On the very last chair. He watched the woman he loved marry the man She loved.

The vows were exchanged and she expressed her love and happiness. She made promises of forever. Promises HE once heard. Promises HE once made.

And when it came time and the preacher asked if anyone objected, her eyes never wandered. She kept her gaze in front of her, in front of the man she loved. And almost without pause the preacher went on. And someone cleared their throat loudly. And footsteps were heard coming down the aisle. People shifted in their seats. Their glares burning into HIM. And all around the room gasps were exchanged.

“Wait.” He said meekly.

“Speak up son, no one can hear you”

He walked closer to her and said “Wait” one more time.

Her face turned slowly in his direction. And her eyes narrowed. It was hard to remember his face. But it was him.

He felt red, and embarrassed, he knew he was making a spectacle and she hated those. So he cleared his throat once more, gathering up all the courage he had inside him. And he held back the tears. He looked down, almost wanting to run, but then proceeded to look back at her. He took a deep breath and began talking.

“I’m here to tell you that I love you. That I was wrong for ever letting you walk away from my life without a fight. I’ve tried everything to close our story. I’ve read other books, and I’ve ventured into unknown places. I met characters, and I saw many faces. But no plot held me tightly, no dialogue kept me intrigued, no chapter kept me tied. I tried. And I tried to reach some closure. But I didn’t know how many pages you were in it till I tried to close the book. Every time, a page appeared, and it was then I missed you. And I can’t. I can’t write this ending. So please, help me. Tell me I don’t belong here; tell me my words don’t bind a piece of your heart. Or tell me if there is a glimpse of hope that you might still love me. Tell me you love me. Tell me you’ll marry me. Pick me. Choose me. And I promise that happily ever after starts with you and I…”

The room stood completely silent, people on the edge of their chairs. There was a long pause. And no one even dared breathed. You could even hear the birds outside chirping on the near trees.

She looked at HIM. And back at the man she vowed to love forever. She looked down at her ring, and back at HIM. She sighed melancholy, deep from within came the sigh, and it filled her eyes with sadness.

There she was dressed in white, about to marry another man, and he wanted her to tell HIM she loved Him. So she did.

“You’re right” she began, and everyone gasped. And the groom looked stricken. She stepped down and came to him.

“You’re right” she said again.

“I knew it” He began. And she interrupted. “Wait, I’ve heard you. Now you’ve got to hear me.”

And he nodded as she went on. “You’re right, I loved you. I loved you very much. Much more than you deserved. And you took. You took all you could take and begged for even more. And you left me stripped, crumpled on the floor. YOU left the page and you never gave it a decent ending. So stop. Just stop. Because you’re right, we were intertwined in each other’s life, and you forget that means I know you well. So stop this charade. THIS isn’t you wanting to declare you’re undying love. Or you wanting to reconcile something you lost. THIS is the four year old child inside of you and his dire jealousy that someone’s picked up the toy, that he himself deserted. Don’t confuse your conscience for love. This isn’t it. I get it you’re sorry. And I accept you’re apology. But you’re too late. I’m far too gone. And this is far too wrong. I don’t love you anymore. I’ve reconciled with the idea that you were never meant for me. And I moved on. Sometimes all you need is a broken heart to realize that something even better is in front of your eyes waiting to be found. And I found it, in him” she said, looking back, taking the grooms hand. “So please understand when I say this. I choose him; I pick him, because it is him that I love, with whom I belong.”

He looked at her and nodded. That was all he could do. It took him a minute to compose himself. He mumbled an apology to the guests and to who ever heard.

When you can’t save yourself or your heart, it helps to be able to save face. So he did. He turned around. And walked right out of her life for the very last time.

HE picked up Volume 1 of his life and nostalgia had struck. It stirred inside him, made his eyes gleam in remembrance. He combed back through the emotions of how he felt when he read those words for the very first time. And it was enough for him to realize he hated the ending. But by then she was far too gone.

See it is true that the heart isn’t a juice box; you can’t squeeze the life out of it trying to remove all trace. But you can cause enough wreckage and damage to the heart that when it rebuilds itself all traces of that past relationship are put in a more appropriate place. That person becomes just a lesson learned.

For her, he was her past, and as much as he tried to make her his present it was way too late. Because anyone can say that they love someone, but true actions are the actions you take to prove you actually mean it. And he never truly had.

You can’t possibly re-write an ending no matter how many times you re-read a book. Sure, you can take away something new each time, maybe even noticed something you hadn’t before. But the period at the end of the last sentence is the closure of any “What ifs”. An ending is an ending. Maybe he held a longer version than hers. Maybe hers just ended abruptly. But regardless, eventually, they’d get to the same page. And “The End” marked its place.

No two good things happen in one day

‘No two good things happen in one day’. I read that once, or someone told me those words. The truth is I can’t remember it. But my mother told them to me this afternoon and they struck me like déjà vu. I’d been here before. This place was familiar. My path always led me here, no matter how many times the territory seemed hopeful and different, it was always this ending.

I’ve never been one to believe in luck. To be frank I don’t think it exists. But if it did I’d take the cake on horrible hardship luck. From wretched events that leave you with battle scars, to the silliest of happenings that leave you exasperated. Like a flat tire, or leaving your key inside the car, or rain without an umbrella. That was my life. Sure, it gave for some good stories, and I’ve laughed at myself more than anyone should be allowed. And I’m a mock of jokes to my friends because of my clumsy ways. But everything in small doses can be taken. Like that horrible pink, grapey syrup your mom gave you when you were little. One spoonful and it was over. You’d follow that gross after taste with your favorite juice or “something special” your mom would let you have because you’d been such a good girl. All things were bearable in small doses.

This week was one of those weeks you knew were special, the kind you’ll always remember because they leave a permanent history marker in your trajectory. And if you’re me, even a visible one. I spent it half working/half vacationing at the beach. But very much elated at the fact that a lot of things in my life seemed to being good. I’d recently received a clean bill of health; my book was days away from being published. I was content with where I’d been and where I was going. I’d even found someone to love again. Well, it all took a turn when I tumbled down the stairs on Monday. Literally. We rented a two story house at the beach and I was in a hurry that night going to meet up with family for dinner. Anyway I guess I should have known better but I rushed, and slipped mid-stairs all the way down. Going thump, thump, thump on my ‘derriere’ right down to the first floor. Bruising myself in places that were even a new triumph for me, if you’d like to think of it that way. I was the butt of the joke that night, and the rest of the vacation of course, no pun intended. But even a silly, clumsy moment should have told me better. It hinted, at the beginning of something. Starting the week on the wrong foot literally should always tell you something.

But that’s the thing; we all like to get caught up in the joy of it all. Sure, it might be the eye of the storm, but it’s YOUR eye. And in that moment, the clouds have parted and the sun is shining and that is all that matters to you. Who cares if a second wall is about to rip through the town, you don’t see it. You dare not imagine it, and you dare not believe anyone who forecasts it. But that’s the thing about inevitability it won’t wait for you to arm yourself with courage. It’ll hit you, blindside your emotions, even when you knew exactly what could happen.

The week progressed and I chose to put certain emotions at bay. Things that couldn’t be turned away from, when they were hitting you straight in the face. Yet things that hundreds of miles away from home you could pretend for a second weren’t happening. You weren’t there, it wasn’t real, and it was a dream, a nightmare if you will. Something happening to the girl, with that name and that life, that only belonged to that person when they were there, in that city. But all tales have a harsh reality, and all houses of cards will fall. So I went home to face reality, and anguish in the form of physical pain, death, and ill-fated love affair. And all in that order.

Miles from the sea, my body ached feeling the pain finally of my injured body. Miles from the sea I learned the man I’d fallen for had moved states away. Miles from the sea I learned that my great-aunt had passed away. All in one day. Inevitability. And I had nothing but seconds to compose myself and digest it. And it didn’t matter how successful that week had been making me walk on cloud nine. Right now, a brick wall had reminded me I was human. And all I could hear was a thump, thump, thump, going down.

That first day, seemed to drag along forever. The more the day went on, the heavier my step felt, the heavier my heart weighed. And I felt my confidence cower into a corner, shunned by every shot of pain showering from my heart in the form of sorrow. I couldn’t remember anything else but reality. The book seemed not a dream realized, but just something you crossed off a to-do list. The signature I’d attached to a certain application that I’d hope would soon bring back an “old privilege” was muddled. The great vacation spent with loved ones, was now just a story. The name’s I wrote on the sand, stating to the world I loved again, had been washed away by the tide. Right then, all I could think about was how foolish I was to think that I had any right to be happy.

I had no resilience. Just a deepening disappointment of myself. Because my mom was right. All good things couldn’t happen in one day. My experience should have led me to know better. But it was also true that all things could be bearable in small doses. But all at once, well, they can make even the biggest optimistic a jaded pessimistic.

I laid in bed that night for hours, sitting in a pool of self pity. And in that night every bad thing ever happened to me came crawling back from the corners of my mind. Memories and nightmares that danced around my room. Haunting and taunting me. And for that night I was that girl. That girl who cries and cries and can’t seem to stop crying because she’s exasperated with the amount of baggage life seems to hand her. I was that girl for that night, well except, I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry though every inch of my body cringed with sorrow. Because I no longer had the tears of a child… I had the melancholy heart of a woman.

We tend to fall apart when so many bad things happen all at once. Maybe because it’s the easiest thing to do, even though we feel like it’s the toughest thing to go through.  Till now my ‘Achilles heel’ had always been caring too much. Everyone knew it was my weakness. But I never saw it that way. Quite frankly it was my defense mechanism in some morbid way. I didn’t change it because it kept me human, and grounded. And it gave me every darn right to keep dreaming, hoping, and wishing for better days. The bible says eternity is inscribed within us, that’s to explain why we have that innate desire to want more than what we have now. Our mere imperfect soul craves what once belonged to us. True Happiness, Perfection, and Ever Lasting Life. But you let enough bad things happen to you with your guard down, and darling, your skepticism will be showing.

Where do you find the happy medium? Well I don’t think it’s an actual place, or a moment of closure, or one exact moment in time you can pinpoint in your life. I think it happens with time, with sadly, hardship, and lots of it. With the realization that you’ve been through worse things and you’ve gotten through them. And that with time this too shall pass. It doesn’t happen when you’re young, it can’t. Because you can call yourself the biggest optimist but unless you have the record to prove otherwise you really have no right to be.

But when you’ve been through it. Whatever “it” means personally to you. And you’ve come out the other end. You won’t question if this is all there is. You will know that optimism isn’t a blinding trait. It is a quality you can’t forfeit to the world, because you’ve earned the right to say “I will find the will, I will find a way.”

So when the next day came, long awaited, I rolled out of bed. Looked outside, and the sun was shining. And I was alive. And that was all that mattered.