I went searching again trying to find him.
A sign, a symbol any hint to tell me that my effort was worth it. Instead, all I see is a distant emptiness. I see loneliness and someone who has made coldness a friend for too long. I couldn’t help but wonder what has made him this way. Who had keeping of his heart and broke it along with her promises? Who is the one who has left him but isn’t really gone?
I’ve seen her once and in her photo, she’s perfect. Is she the one who haunts him now and taunts me with the indelible print of distrust she’s left on his brain? He is so aloof, so detached even in moments when his words are so passionate.
Meanwhile, I am here, too real, too close, too me. I shouldn’t compare myself to a photograph. The difference between is too great and I feel tears gather and I let them fall quietly as I look at the memories of he and me.
I know he’s sorry. Sorry for hurting me, for not letting go of the past, even ours, sorry for coming back when he knew it wasn’t really what he wanted. It was something we both knew from that last conversation but never acknowledged.
Now I’m stuck in this place, continuing to pick at this scar he’s reopened. Still trying to live up to what he used to think of me. Falling far short of what I thought I should be. Left without explanation or the anticipation for a what we might be.
All I ever hoped was that one day, we’d have our second chance. That one day I would be real enough for you.
I’m sorry that you were disappointed.
27 January 2014