"Come back to me!" I love you forever!"
------------------------------------------
"I suppose that's what I'm here for. To suck you back in" she admitted.
"I didn't want to see you" he replied, staring glassily into the water.
"They told me."
"I was afraid I'd still love you" he confessed openly.
"I hoped you would."
"My fear, your wish-- both granted."
========================================
You know, there's a scene in 8MM (a pretty awful film) where Tom Welles is talking to a woman about her missing daughter. Missing for years. And as he's talking to her, he asks her if...
... well. Let me just quote the script:
"Do you ever consider... do you realize that she may never come back?"
"I think about it every day. But, every time the phone rings.... every, single time, I still think it's her."
And that's how I feel toward Katie.
Of course, the wound is still fresh. Jagged and raw; almost a direct metaphor for the back of my knuckles from working my punching bag too hard. Wartlike and ugly, unhealing from aggravation, as I'm constantly reminded it's there.
But I've ached before. I suffered loss before. And I know that this is different from most.
This is very like that quote, because I won't stop thinking about her. I can't.
I wonder, all the time, what she's doing right now. How she is feeling. How her day was.
Every time my phone makes it's low, bass thrumming pulse, or it's whimsical, ethereal melodic whistle.... my heart leaps for a second. And I have to remind myself-- consciously stop myself and remind myself-- that it won't be her.
It takes the edge of the invariable disappointment that follows when I check, and it isn't.
I remember, in our one of our classic and wryly-amusing-in-it's-bitterness "breaks", we were trying to console one another a little. Openly mourning the fact that we could not-- should not-- see one another any more.
We weren't supposed to text or talk any more, y'know? She and I were to go our separate ways. And our ways consisted of me disintegrating the bridge built between us, because enduring without her would be too painful, and ultimately fruitless.
But I texted her anyway, as she was all I could think about.
"I don't know how to do this", I admitted, resignedly; sadly.
"Me either", she echoed. "My phone lit up, and I jumped up and grabbed for it like it was saving my life."
That quote made me smile a little just now. It's very bittersweet and sad.
I will have angry things to say. Harsh things. But also tender and pleasant and joyous recollections to bring to bear here.
But right now, I just miss her.
Still.
There is more to the script-quote of the film, incidentally. And for accuracy, I think it might be interesting to put the rest...
" So what am I supposed to do? Forget her? Time heals all wounds, right?
She's all I think about, and I've learned to live with that.
But, you want the truth-- the real truth?
If I had a choice... if I had to choose, between her being out there, living a good life and being happy, and me not knowing; never finding out what happened to her... or her being dead and me knowing... I'd choose to know."
......
Is that a shameful and selfish request?
I suspect that it is.
And maybe I haven't rationalized that very well.
Because there may very well be a part of me that DOESN'T want to know, so it can subsist in pretending.... anything that I want.
That she misses me, too.
That she mourns her choice. Her mistakes.
That she thinks of me fondly, and often.
... but every time I read a passage in a book, or a panel in a comic. Any time I've seen a scene in a film or television show that speaks of loss or.... longing.
I reference her.
And, I don't know if she'll ever read this. But if she does, I want her to know that it's ok to message me.
It's alright to build a new sailing vessel, and ferry your way back across the ocean.
I don't hate you. I just am saddened by your choice, and disappointed by your immaturity. Our lack of coincident values.
But don't be afraid to text me, call me, email me.
You are still now, and ever will be, important to me.
10:08 p.m. - 2013-07-14
Recent entries:
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