“My Love” Fiction. Based on a True Loss and Renewal.

I always take comfort in knowing that we’re never really separate from them, they’re always connected to us.

by Dan Vega

“My Love”

Fiction. Based on a True Loss and Renewal.

by Jin

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

In the beginning, there was just love. We would stare into each others’ eyes for hours on end. Time would slip past and we wouldn’t even try to grasp it and then there we were, at four in the morning, and I’m playing you Lover Boy, by Queen.

You withheld yourself from me in the beginning, and I from you. In different ways, I suppose. You’d sit at one side of the couch, and I on the other, my whole body alive with wanting you, and yet I couldn’t touch you. There would be days, days when you weren’t there, and my mind would tell me I didn’t want to be around you. I was scared of it. Scared of it all. Scared of how you made me feel. Scared of the moment when you stared across the counter at me with your blue, blue eyes, and I blushed and felt as though you were staring straight into my soul. Those moments were not rare, in the beginning, and I feared them.

I wanted to be in control. I wanted to control when and where you would see me. But when we were together . . . I lost all of it. I lost myself in you. I forgot everything and all I could see were your lips, your gentle frame.

And later, I would be dozing on the couch after work, dreaming about muffins, and you would just be watching me . . . . I’d blink awake and you’d be there, patiently observing. You were everything I had ever wanted. And I don’t know what happened.

Our first argument wasn’t for a month or two, at least. I was already in that cursed place. We had lived together on a whim for two weeks, right before I left, and my last glimpse of you was you on your bike, riding away. I left the note for you on the counter. We are entering “Stage Two,” I think I wrote. What stage is this? Are we out of stages now? Or are we going in a circle and I have miscounted?

I miss you. It is hard to express how much I miss you. And even harder since you are not talking to me, and I don’t know if you ever will again.

I channeled your higher self the other night. Did you feel it? I followed the instructions in the book. I called you, and you came. Not at first, no. I thought, and I tried to envision you. I tried to bring an image of you into my head as I used to so easily, and it wouldn’t come. Your jean jacket was there, yes, and your glasses, and even that mop of unruly brown hair. But I couldn’t see your lovely eyes and your full lips, and I was discouraged. I was speaking to the air, again, as I had done while isolated in the cursed place, whispering for you to come to me. Come, come; I have something to say. Come, my love. And then I released my expectations, and you were there.

You were a ball of light. I could feel you, floating in front of me, and this intense feeling overcame me, of everything beautiful you had ever triggered in me- of peace, of love, and of intense sadness . . . sadness because it had been so long since I had felt it, so long since I had beheld you. But I was ready to let you go. I was ready to release your energy and regift it to you and in doing so, heal my own. It was my conclusion that I had absorbed your grief and was keeping it from you. I was hoarding it as my own and not allowing either of us to heal.

So I called you, and you came. I felt you with my eyes closed. I spoke to you. I said all that I wanted to say, all that I wanted you to hear, all that you wouldn’t hear from me the last time I spoke to you. I reached out my hands, and I stroked your face. I kissed your lips. And then I blew lightly on you, and I released you, and you were gone.

In the beginning, there was just love. Just love. It was a dream. And then there was the cursed place, and through that whole time you were there- I couldn’t have survived it without you. You were always whispering in my ear, whispering me to sleep, telling me it was all going to be okay, speaking to me in my language, listening to my pain, and reveling in my triumphs. And I loved you for it. I still love you for how you supported me during that time. But as you know . . . that place broke me. When finally we were together again I was different, and I would never be the same.

You could not follow me where I was going. I was going to a dark, dark place, but the road through the dark led to light, though neither of us could see this at the time. I can see now what you have done for me. After all the pain, the hurt, the anger, the abandonment, and my inability to comprehend the whole experience, I can see that in letting me go, you released me to be myself. From where I am now, I can look back and thank you for showing me who I am.

And now, I can only hope that my path will someday lead me back to you, my love.

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