And So Just How Are We Supposed To Let Them Go?

We both suffered the agony from the coup de grace of a terminated love. In our case forced leave-takings didn’t solve a lot. Just a tiny bit, maybe, who knows. Hard to say. But we definitely quit torturing each other, crucifying hopes and doubts, just because socially we went numb, deaf and blind; oh, and the kilometers between us scattered and completely erased the painful possibility of a “maybe I will see you at my usual coffee place or in a bar we used to go on Fridays” happenstance.

You know, I have an atypical secret to share: I delete the cause of pain outside at the moment when I am not emotionally sober yet to realize that the cause of pain is within me, but not behind your deceiving coffee eyes or under his chestnut spell of triceps and biceps.

I delete the triggers, the slightest reminders of sighs, sparks, sex, joy, madness, lust, everything that lived in this or that relationship. I do cut out memories mercilessly, and quite masterly I perform a vasectomy of future maybe-pain, maybe-regret or a maybe-careless message affected by the wild dance of wicked melancholic hormones.

I destroy the bridges and burn the ships. That’s how I deal with a vanishing act of love. Knowing that the agony of farewell doesn’t last forever, I gingerly croon to my disenchanted heart: “It will end soon. Hold on!”

And then it ends, it leaves ashes behind, beautiful ashes and horrible ashes, too. It collapses the expectations and extinguishes the plans. But in the meanwhile, it also leaves so much space, oh, gosh, it unearths so much new space in the heart ready to host Eden again. As now I know that my soil is fertile for the better love, for the newer life, for the brighter chapters, for the merrier episodes, for more alluring treats, for sexier strokes and caresses, flirts and plays, for the more honest show-ups, for the stronger hearts and braver minds.

And then the memories come back. They always do. But now they are ready to move in a jubilant solid house with renovated emotional rooms, where they won’t wake up amidst the broken relationship glasses, but where they will live happily ever after under a delicate welkin of my revivified heart.