mahiwaga

It’s the little things that I remember with the greatest poignancy, most of them existing only in my mind. She would likely be shocked and disturbed by things running through my crazed brain.

The first time I saw her, sitting at the far end of the table, I remember my breath catching. We were introduced briefly, but I didn’t say a single word to her that night. It was unlikely that she would ever notice me, and I did not think of her, at least not deliberately. She was, and is still, perhaps the most beautiful woman I have ever met, and as I got to know her from afar, I realize that her inner beauty outshines her appearances, if you can believe such a thing.

There was the time I found myself unexpectedly facing her on the dance floor, her friends having inexplicably flanked her, and I still cannot bring myself to believe it was deliberate. I do not even remember the song that was playing. I can only recall my sense of astonishment. Maybe I did just dream it.

And then that small little note, just one sentence, that she once left me letting me know that she did know that I existed.

The time we sang a love song together for fun, in jest, me trying to keep my voice from quavering.

These memories of driving, just shooting the shit, about anything and everything.

But it was her kindness and her tenderness that struck me deep in my heart, like a barbed wire, sharp and fine, yet catching and pulling, and I think I have wriggled helplessly, haplessly, like a plinthed fish all this time.

This woman, beautiful and brilliant and funny, no one’s fool, and yet despite her strength, despite her will to defy the world, she still remembers child-like glee. Her smile, her laughter can always chase the darkness from my heart. I am always reminded of the sun.

There were those days of my exile, in that dark land where I was cold and more alone than I have ever been, and I thought of her much, knowing with dark despair that there was nothing I could do, as she fell in and out of love with other men, and I cursed my folly for falling for one such as she, wondering what the hell I was thinking. It was better that I forget, and dream no more.

But in quiet moments, her face will flicker in my mind’s eye, overwhelming me, and I can’t help but feel that I am cursed, to have known someone such as she, and to yet know that there is no way save selling my soul to the devil or miraculous, divine intervention that my vain hopes might come true.

I don’t know why, but I’ve dreamt of my ex lately. Nothing disturbing, just brief snippets and vignettes.

It’s been a good ten years since we were dating, and she’s married now, and we still speak/e-mail each other now and again, although I suppose not really that often. The relationship ended rather disastrously, what with her cheating on me and all. It was a good three years or so before I would even talk to her again—she was pretty distraught with me disappearing from her life like that, and she was pretty persistent in trying to re-establish contact. The thought of getting back together with her did enter my mind once or twice, but quickly went back out again. Sure, she had changed, she wasn’t the same person who had ruined my heart, but after getting burned pretty badly, it’s hard to trust fire again.

In any case, she met other people, hooked up, fell in love, whatever, and then met the man she was going to marry. I think I may very well have been one of the people who convinced her that the guy really deeply loved her. I even showed up to their wedding reception. I was a little surreal, but whatever. I ran into people I hadn’t seen in forever, and my oldest friend in all the world was there as well.

But, looking back at these past ten years, I can’t help but feel like the experience wrecked me pretty badly emotionally. It would be unfair to blame her. In retrospect, we were just kids, and shit like this happens all the time. Thems is the breaks.

But I think I have a pretty hard time trusting people. I often unfairly assume that they are going to let me down, so I prepare for it, and don’t expect things from others. It keeps me emotionally safe, but it also has kept me kind of excruciatingly lonely.

How does one learn to trust again, I wonder?

I think the answer is to just take a chance. There’s that quote that I like from Henry Stimson, FDR’s Secretary of War, that goes something like, the only way to make someone trustworthy is to trust them.

Sadly, however, this is not very unlike telling a near-drowning victim that the only way to get over their fear of water is to jump right into the deep end.

Damn. Ten years is a long time. And it’s only getting longer. Ah well, there are worse things in life than being alone.