I’m doing my level best.
Really I am.
I thought that last night would be the only time I cried.
But after a nice afternoon watching Ip Man, a fun Japanese lunch with some of my favourite people, an exciting and humorous outing with friends on ‘Project Calvin’…I go back to my room and start crying again.
When I decided to just turn my back on the man I loved like a sickness of the soul for four years, I resigned myself to a quiet time of singlehood. To get myself back together and learn to be alone again.
And only a few days after I think that, someone falls out of the sky. And yesterday, he walked right out my front door.
Leaving me feeling even more dejected than I did those few broken days before I met him. Rejection always hurts, and there is nothing you can say or do to make it better.
I want to be OK. I want to stop hurting. Because it’s like being to heaven for a few days, then sent right back into a mortal body, broken and bleeding. When I was with him it was good, it was pleasant, it was easy not to think or worry or feel anything but content.
And I was content.
And you expect me not to grieve, or cry or hurt? Or feel despair, to be left alone and lonely and hurt and just not good enough for anything, or anybody?
To be happy that hey, we had a great month, be happy yeah?
There’s a reason why people cry at funerals. You don’t say, oh, we had a good time with so-and-so on Earth so we’ll remember that. No. You scream at God, the Earth, the Universe, for taking something precious from you.
So let me have my moment of grief.