I have this picture in my head of you, standing in the parking area, in front of your house, all dirty from work, and still in your work clothes. You were standing with all your weight on your right leg, and you gave me this look I don’t think I can ever describe in words, because it was all feelings. Even in writing this, I am crying yet again. That look you gave me was all I ever needed to know. It was wordless communication at its finest and one of the rare moments I thought maybe you did love me as much as I did you. Its that look, still haunting my every thought.
I’d just pulled up to spend the weekend, and we’d already had some problems communicating. I was bringing you that sectional, and I’d gone through a lot, not only to get it loaded, but to get it to you. None of that mattered though, because in that moment, none of my angst mattered.
Nothing mattered except being with you, being in your arms, being yours. In that moment, all I wanted in the entire world crystalized before me. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, you were my—HIM. The one meant for me.
Even in writing that entire book, I still can’t quite figure out how I failed. Being with you was all I wanted, and I was planning on changing my entire life so I could be. I thought you’d be able to feel my devotion, and I thought the intensity of my love would vanquish your demons long enough so you could see the light at the end of the tunnel regarding us, and me.
I guess that is why I am still flailing. I’d already jumped. I’d already fallen, and by then, you were already looking the other direction.
I refer to myself as broken, but it’s more than broken. It’s smashed and crushed. It’s humiliated and despondent. A lifetime’s quest to find you, and you didn’t feel it. My love wasn’t enough, and sadly, that was all I really had to offer.