So many locks, not enough keys

She was of mesmerizing beauty and a light heart. He was an analytical sort, of a heavy soul. They’d met years ago on a brief encounter and didn’t see each other till many open and closed doors later. Two different and yet much alike beings who were walking on the same road, speeding past each other, missing one another time and time again.

He feared her natural optimism, she disdained his cynicism. But as different as their story lines had been all their lives, no two souls could have matched more perfectly.  Their friendship told that tale.

It wasn’t that they weren’t aware of each other; it was just much easier to pretend that the feelings weren’t there. It was much safer that way at least. To thread through life than actually jump in. They hadn’t always been this way. I mean, they had both had serious relationships in the past. Neither of which ended well. So maybe it was hesitation of being hurt again, but maybe it was just that if nothing ever started, they’d never have to worry about its ending.

SD once wrote that “It’s a lot easier to be lost then found. It’s the reason we are always searching and rarely discovered – So many locks not enough keys.” And maybe it’s true. It’s much easier to drift through life where the only person you have to answer to is yourself. To lock doors, and throw away keys, or chances, in order to protect our hearts.  But if in the process you’ve bolted yourself in so tightly you can’t escape, did you really put pain at bay? Or did you fall on your own sword?

I agree that having a door slammed right in your face can leave you feeling stumped. It takes time to recover. But if we all went through life so painfully aware of just that, we would never sweep our insecurities and hug opportunities ever again.

They both mistakenly thought that being strong meant never letting feelings show. With as much pride as tall as Mt. Everest neither wanted to be the first to give. So though superbly apparent to everyone else how ideal they were for each other they continued being just friends and nothing more. And how could anyone expect to open a door if they’d never even turned the key?

But holding people away from you and denying yourself love, that doesn’t make you strong. If anything it makes you weaker. Because you are doing it out of fear.  And time was passing. Crucial minutes and seconds, each one capable of changing everything. That summer would draw its close, the season would end, and the wind would shift inevitably. Looking back, it seemed like it should have been harder to lose someone, or have them lose you, especially when they were in the same state, only a few towns over.

It’s true, that when turning a key there’s never a guarantee that what’s on the other side of the door will grant you happiness unimagined. No one can guarantee that. But it’s also true that no one ever wins a car on a game show by playing it safe. When it comes to love, you have to all in. Do it right, or don’t do it all. I mean, you might be pleasantly surprised. And that key, well, it was always the one to your heart. 

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.

Love you most

It was the third day of spring. I was sitting in the passenger’s seat talking away the drive. I’d been so long since her and I had been on a night out alone. But there we were, headed to a day of errands, a late dinner and a movie.

We were discussing an upcoming trip to NYC and when it would be best to take it before or after the wedding. And the subject turned to Wedding. I took over the conversation asking her a million questions. I always valued her opinion most of all. She knew me better than most of all. And as the unofficial Mexican Martha Stewart, her opinions truly mattered.

So I spilled over on wedding colors, and decoration likings. Flower arrangements and mental lists of prices. I rambled on about seating arrangements and list of guests. Never noticing that the more I spoke the more she responded less and less. Her mood heavy, a tear was shed. So crazed into my future I’d forgotten my present. It was in that moment she looked at me and said:

“I’ll miss you.”

There was pain in her eyes. I cringed as I watched her clear her throat. She was immediately uncomfortable for that sign of weakness. That was her way. But I heard it, and it meant the world to me. I smiled gathering up the courage.

“So what color?” She asks, concentrating again on the road, not giving me a chance to respond. She narrowed her eyes and gripped the steering wheel harder. And I knew that was my cue to move on. She wasn’t one to show weakness, or emotion, her kind of love was felt in action. Few “I love you’s” ever crossed her lips. So when she said something, it was rare but it was truthful and heartfelt.

Later that night, as she was immersed into the film in front of us, I got lost in her laughter, in her lighthearted way, and in the gleam of her eyes. She was so beautiful. So absolutely enchanting. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew how much I loved her.

Growing up we had a huge gap in ages. I was her bratty little sister, clinging to her by order of mom and not her own wish. When the years progressed we were never partners in crime or confidants but we were each other’s most reliable source. She always had my back and I had hers. It was an unwritten law, and unspoken law, but it was law nonetheless.

We were very different. I was a social butterfly who lived on a cloud. And she was a realist who dreamed meekly. And when it came to love, well we, we were very different on that matter too. I was more my father’s child in that way, in love with love. With me you could always tell who I was interested in. Even as a child I had my life planned around what I thought love would grant me. Silly notions and silly thoughts. But she, well she was more reserved.

And even though it was the case, there were a couple suitors. But for some reason or another, most unaware to me she never found the right man. She set high standards for herself and was much more preoccupied with the enlighten of herself than the search of another’s heart. I loved that about her. Society… not so much. We come from a background where Everyone gets married. And Everyone has kids. The definition of what it was to be a woman in my family. But she never let stereotypes get in the way. She was of a strong character, one who made her in my eyes not as weak as I. I’ve always admired her for that.

The years went on and eventually all her girlfriends married one by one. And I finally became of age to gain her as a friend. And where I went she followed. I grew sick in 2008 and she was irrevocably tied to me. She slept on the floor of a hospital for a year showing me how much she loved me. It was such a selfish time I took from my family then. She gave up all her free time to help ease the burden of taking care of me. And she became more than a sister; she was a nurse, almost a second mother. Never nagging for a second putting her life on hold for me.  

Those 5 years took a hard toll on all of us. My condition though eventually became more manageable. Slowly I took the reins back from my family and from her. And slowly I ventured, heart in hand, out into the world again. I found out with all the extra baggage it wasn’t as easy as when I was young and healthy and vibrant. So I gave up on love, and on myself. I concentrated solely on my close friends and family, and the bond between my sister and I grew stronger. It was unspoken, but we knew that we’d grow old together. We began planning our lives again, trips, and goals to reach. And I think she knew I’d never leave her side. It was comforting in a way, to know that you’d always have someone beside you, who you could share the ups and downs of life with for the rest of your days.

In the past couple of months though, love gave me one last blessing, unexpectedly when I let go of the wheel I ended up right where I belonged. And in the shape of a wonderful man I found out there was still one last story left in me. One last enchanting and beautiful future. One that him and I are writing at the time, and will soon seal and sign.

My sister is happy for me, as is the rest of the family. But it wasn’t till she said those words that I realized my happiness was bittersweet for her. And so, for me. Because though my future is bright, and it makes me overjoyed to think about. There’s also the realization that I leave behind a loving home, and a loving sister, friend, and one of the women I hold most dear.

She’ll always be a part of my life. She’ll always hold a much bigger part of my heart than she’ll ever know. But reality is things won’t be the same. They can’t be. I’ll be married at the end of the year and will start a whole new role in my own life. And she, well she’s got her own life to live, places to venture off to and people to love, hold, and cherish. And these years, the years of our early life, they’ll be warm memories to hold in our hearts, to esteem once our hair is gray and our youth is long gone.

It’s finally late in the evening when we are heading back home. I’ve gotten sick over something I ate again, and she’s rushing me home for meds. I climb into bed finally, agonizing in pain. She walks in turns my lamp on. And hands me a cup of tea. She asks if I want her to sleep with me. I decline and tell her to rest. She’s halfway to the doorway wishing me a good night and I finally say…

“I’ll miss you too… I love you”

She looks back and smiles.

“Love you more.”

“Love you most.”

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories

“Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories” (An Affair to Remember)

It was the first day of winter today. The first day in November a chill filled the air. So cold you bypass the shadows and head straight for the sunlight paths. But it was there among the cold I walked alone.

I was running errands and getting swept away by the Monday Blues. I made it to my car finally and got in as quickly as possible. I burred loudly as an alert flashed the screen on my phone. I looked down and realized my calendar was alerting me of birthdays and such. I scrolled down and I saw his name.

I found it strange that I still held this information after so many years. Even more surprised when I realized it was in some way comforting. And in that car alone, on the first day of winter, with a chill in the air… I felt warmth.

I was only 15 when I met him. I was Cinderella at the ball when I met him, and he was the prince who found my lost slipper. I remember it well. I was sitting down when he walked in to the skating ring. I’d just suffer a hard fall and was trying to recuperate. A bit embarrassed I was taking my skates off when he came over. He’d recognize a mutual friend sitting next to me and wanted to say hello. He had a smile on his face when he introduced himself to me. He asked me what I was doing. And I said that I was quitting.

He laughed and said “Don’t do that. Come on, come with me. I promise, don’t worry, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.” He extended his hand and I took it.

He was a stranger. But as I took his hand and proceeded to skate with him side by side I forgot all about it. He was charming, and witty, and terribly sweet. It felt safe, and warm, and right.

So we skated the rest of the night, and when the night ended we said goodbye. Sadly, neither one of us thought of asking the other for each other’s number. And yet somehow, I knew I’d see him again someday.

Months passed before I ever did. It was at a convention. I was about to take a step down the stairs when something made me turn left. And there he was. Dressed in a suit, and enchanting smile, just a couple feet away from me. Our eyes met, and we both swiftly moved towards each other. Needless to say, when the convention was over he asked for my number then. The rest as they say was history. Beautiful, first love, enchanting history.

We invested 5 years into each other. We loved foolishly and sometimes blindly the way first loves are often lived. It wasn’t a perfect love. It was after all my first. It was full of mistakes, much on my end for being so young. Full of emotions and ultimatums.

Expectation is what ruins first loves, and it did ours. I’d expected love to be a certain way, having it been engraved in me when it didn’t pan out the way I planned it, it felt like the sky was falling. But he never wavered. He loved me unconditionally. So beautifully that I couldn’t help but keep coming back to him.

The magic of first loves is our ignorance that it can never end. But they do. Because at that age, butterflies never lie still long enough. We parted ways at the end of those 5 years, and moved on with our lives.

I loved him dearly, and I know he loved me very much. But sometimes all the love in the world won’t save a sinking ship. Sometimes you just have to jump over board. And though till this day it warms my heart when I see him, an ending was an ending. No matter how many pages of beautifully written stories led up to it, it would always have the last word.

It’s been many years since then, time and distance created an inevitable gap, and needless to say we both ventured off into different territories. But even so sometimes I can still close my eyes and hear him say “Don’t you worry, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall”. And it still warms my heart.

So maybe I never really got Cinderella’s ending. Maybe in the process the glass slipper broke, but the story well that lives on forever. When I recant the story, I realize how terribly fortunate I was for having had an almost perfect first love. It set the standard pretty high thereafter. And left me a bit of an optimist when it comes to love.

I don’t know where he is in life, strangely enough. But wherever he is I wish him well, and happiness, and lots and lots of love because he deserves it. I adore him still, and always will, after all no one forgets their first love. I have only fond memories. Sweet rose colored memories. And I always will.

Some people in your life create that kind of impact. That inevitable mark in your heart that leaves you changed forever. Making you forever indebted with them for helping shape you. And thanks to him I learned what love is.

Sarah Dessen once wrote: “Some things don’t last forever, but some things do. Like a good song, or a good book, or a good memory you can take out and unfold in your darkest times, pressing down on the corners and peering in close, hoping you still recognize the person you see there.”

And it’s true. Winter may be cold and bitter, and you might burr in desperation at times when it comes to love, but warm memories, well they stay with you forever. And they give you hope in despair. They remind you that if all else fails, eventually, spring will come.

The roller coaster ride...

The worst thing about NOT being in a relationship is having to give advice about love.

I love my friends and if there's something I can do to help. I'm the first one there. But at times having to give advice is a bit draining. Especially when you have to give advice about something you never followed.

It reminds you that at some point that's not something you believed in. And that if you had maybe there would have been a different outcome.

But there I was on a roller coaster, of all places, when my friend turns and looks at me and says "What do i do? What would you do?"

"Scream" I said. She says "Why?"

"Because we are about to drop" She looks down and realizes it. And we scream.

When we get off, she realizes I haven't given her any advice so she asks again. I look at her and say "Love is a bit of a roller coaster. Sometimes you're up and laughing with giddiness. At times you are down. Screaming inside, holding your stomach with nervous pain. Sometimes you feel like you are on top of the world. At times you feel like your feet are dangling in the air. Its a risk, its thrilling. But no matter how many times you loop or turn in ways you didn’t think possible at the end of the day everything will be okay. You need to realize that no love is perfect, that it can be a bit chaotic at times. But if you're fortunate you learn to hold tight. And to laugh after facing those drops. You learn that some rides are worth enduring."

She laughs. "You always know the right thing to say and the right thing to do". I smile because that is untrue. If it were I would of chosen a roller coaster instead of a 100 ft drop elevator for mine...