You can have Manhattan, Cause I can’t have you.

She stood outside for the first time all day. The sun shined brightly enough to remind her it was still fall. But the breeze was fresh enough to whisper that change was coming, and the end of the season was fast approaching.

She embraced herself and sighed melancholically. And a sudden surge of sadness swept her face. She took to her front steps. And stared straight into the sky, a flock of birds, were passing by, nestling on the light poles, it seemed like a swarm of them.

Flying south for the winter – she thought. “How I wish I was you”. She said out loud to no one in particular. But she did. In that moment, wished she too could spread wings and fly as far away from here as she possibly could.

It was strange how binding a location can seem when all you want to do is get away. How the 1,619,090 million people, the 59 square kilometers, with over 100 skyscrapers, all of a sudden can seem like a 4x4, narrow, asphyxiating box.

She envied the migration of the birds, the way that when a location was no longer useful, they could get up and just go, move on to the next. She wanted to get away. She needed to get away. Like if going east or west would up the ante of not feeling what was coming to her.

From an early age we were told that if a flood hits we must head for higher ground. To escape and earthquake, we must walk outside. If a hurricane is announced one must head east or west of it. And if a tornado ever comes to head for shelter. So when your whole life you’ve been told to save face, it’s hard not to think that when a break up occurs you must heath south for winter.

The bustle of the city was deafening, and it seemed every corner she turned held a memory of an ill fated love affair, one she just wanted to put behind her. But it’s hard to let go, when you live in an island. And you can still pin point the location of where half your heart lies.

There was no escaping the run-ins of the past. That same café that was exactly 2 miles from his place. The bar, with the bartender that never got their drink orders right. The reason that they met. The restaurant down two blocks that had his favorite pancakes and her favorite eggs. The deli where the guy behind the counter always called them Mr. And Mrs. M.

The concrete jungle mocked the days of careless laughter, and sweet reverie. It laced the memories, and swept the emotions; it tangled the kisses, and masked the rose colored view. It screamed in her ear that she was overwhelmingly abandoned and her shadow was the only thing faithful friend who stood beside her.

What happens if a bird didn’t leave its home? Eventually its environment would not be nourishing enough for them to make it through the winter. The air would be too cold, and with bare trees they’d eventually run out of food. Inevitability. So even when holding our ground seems like the strongest thing to do, it is inevitably sometimes the thing we not ought to do.

So she packed her bags that mid fall, and headed down south for the winter. She bowed out of the horizon that held its fist around her throat, that held her heart caught in a web, that held her soul knotted in regret. She ventured forward into her future. Let time pass and her wounds heal. And like a bird she found that eventually this season too would pass. That the wind would shift again. And that the trees would bloom again in spring.

A forever kind of love

It was mid day Sunday when we went over to visit a friend at a Geriatrics center. We sat most of the time discussing what to do about this Friends health. And explaining to his son, who had come down to visit from up north, the critical issue of this friend’s relocation.

See he’s in his mid 80’s now and often forgets taking his medication. He now needs care 24hrs a day. But all our good intentions are now short of the care that his family can give him. As my father discussed this with his son, I sat next to this dear old man and the love of his life.

She’d lean in to talk to him since he’s hard at hearing. And he’d look at her intently with the sweetest sadness in his eyes. There was warmth in the way they spoke to each other. And their love radiated in the way they’d smile at one another.

The decision to uproot him from his home was a hard one. And we all knew it. He’d live next door to the love of his life for 25 years. They never married and to anyone else it seemed like they lived separate lives. But they shared much more than just a hall in an apartment complex.

They shared decades of endless coffee’s and breakfasts. They shared dinners and long conversations. They shared losses and gains that life threw at them. All with stride, all with care, and deep respect for one another.

They shared their everyday life with each other; the monotonous routine to the perpetual tragic turn of events in their lives. For 25 years he drove her to all her errands. And every Sunday afternoon they could be found drinking coffee at her apartment after a long day of errands. When one was sick, the other would cook soups and old Mexican remedies for the other. This was their way. Their friendship was that profound. And year after year, a love more unconditional than any other type of love grew.

They never married because after becoming a widow she felt a sense of loyalty to her husband. And he never remarried because after a divorce he fell in love with a woman who would never marry again. But for 25 years they remained neighbors and each other’s confidant and best friend.

 Now both in their late 80’s their illnesses have blotted out their future. Dementia is starting to set in and it is harder for them to get around. They’ve become senile and it’s obviously time that someone takes care of them. They need nurturing and love, and sadly both will be leaving very soon to their families miles apart from each other.  Him up north, and her down south to Mexico.

So to see them today having come to the realization that now they must part ways was very much heart breaking. And he said it so that day at brunch. He told her his heart would break if they took him away from him. But she reassured him that it was okay. That she would put aside her heart just to see him well and better taken care of.

You could see it in their eyes, how hard it was going to be for them to say goodbye. How hard it would be to walk away from a lifetime of memories. But inevitability has a way of catching up with you when we least expect it.

The visit ended and we left promptly. But as we drove away I couldn’t help but think how bitterly sweet their goodbye would be. How after 25 years and many recollections they remained steadfast when it came to their love. So pure and so wholesome. Rare, oh so rare, for our time.

True love stories are very hard to come by these days. Pure unconditional love is a rare gem often stowed away secretly. Our society has a dire need of return policies when it comes to love. It’s so much easier for them to discard of someone than to stand by them a lifetime. And divorce has almost become a norm, a solution, an easy fix, to people’s issues.

So when you see a forever kind of love, the kind that lasts a lifetime, you can’t help but regain some hope. Hope in humanity, that the ideals that we vow to upkeep sometimes are worth all the struggle. That the exceptions in love can occur much more often than the rule. And that love is capable of withstanding much more than we give it credit for.

I’m not saying it’s easy to come by. What I am saying is that given a real shot at love, every relationship can have a real opportunity at it. But it might take rubbing off the skepticism we’ve been wearing as sunscreen. It might mean tearing down the walls of our insecurities. And it might also mean rebuilding and restructuring bridges we burned and digging up the ideals that we buried.

It’s work and exertion on our part, but a lifetime later you will find it to be a blessing… to have had lived through something so exceptionally special.

Alive

I fought with the napkin dispenser as I waited for my order to be ready. He must have seen me struggling and came up behind me. He pushed the napkin holder and with a swift of his hand he took out a stack of them.

“Here” he said. With my back still to him I felt my heart sink. I recognized that voice. It took only one word. But I knew it well. And when I turned around and the scent of his cologne caught my nose I was embraced by the past. “Hey you”. I acted surprised, he didn’t know how good I’d gotten at lying.

“Hey Miriam, how have you been?” he said.

“Great, and you? How’s your family? Your niece?..” I stopped myself. And just grinned I was nervous for no apparent reason. Other than I always felt as a fool when I stood in front of him.

He began to tell me about his family, and work. We even took to a stool to wait for both our drinks. I knew there was a lot of catching up to do. But I wasn’t paying attention to the dialogue. I was staring at him. My first love. The man whose heart I’d broken. And the one I paid my dues for. His eyes were gleaming, and he seemed happy. His spirit was light while mine weighed heavy. But I smiled and I pushed through.
“Mango-a-gogo with wheat grass for Miriam” the employee interrupted.

“Guess that’s me”. I went up to the counter and picked up my drink. I sat it down on the table we were talking and began saying goodbye. Something about being late, and having to get somewhere. He stood up and for the first time in years gave me a hug. A real hug. Not a “Good to see you” one arm hug. But an embrace, an “I care for you regardless” embrace.

I cringed in those few seconds. I’d been so long since anyone had hugged me. Really hugged me. It felt awkward an unfamiliar. And yet warm and inviting. I batted my eye lashes and gave him one last smile before walking out of the store. He didn’t have to know how wounding that embrace had been.

I got to my car. And I sat in the driver seat not going anywhere for a while. I just busted into tears. I’ve been feeling so lonely these days. So out of touch with the world. That when somebody touched me it nearly broke my heart. It could have been anyone. Anyone could have hugged me that day and it would have had the same effect.

That type of loneliness should be illegal. There was deep melancholy sorrow pouring out of me. It made it painful to breathe, to think. I’d been sweeping everything under a rug for the past weeks that it had all finally caught up to me. And all it took was one hug.

Have you ever walked into a room and not felt physically alive, till someone touched you or said your name? I feel like that often these days. Like a dusty arm chair in the corner of a crowded room.

That night as I laid in bed I realized one undeniable truth. I felt terribly alone. Left to fend for myself, I wasn’t doing a good job. I was muddling through. Moving but getting nowhere. I closed my eyes. What I wanted more in the world was to be wrapped in someone’s arms. To hear the beating heart beat of another. To feel wanted. And needed. Because maybe then I’d believe I was still alive.