A young man left me at seventeen. He came back looking for me, but I knew he deserved better so I pretended not to notice him. I chose to let him find someone better.
Last August, though, when other women would try to get to know him, he invoked his exes.
That hurt me.
How in the heck is he going to find someone better if he's constantly bellyaching about us?
My face must be the reason.
The picture on his feed must be why he thought of me.
I unfriended him. I gave him an explanation. I will always care deeply for him, so I must give him space.
I don't know if he cares.
My religion is odd. I still refer to the old ways, to the ways of the man who raised me to believe that there are unseen ties between people. We are tied to each other when we think of each other. Thoughts tie us together. Objects tie us together. Dreams tie us together. Love ties us together.
If I don't think of him,
if I don't own anything he gave me,
if I can drink enough to keep him out of my dreams,
then maybe I can stop loving him and cut the tie.
I unfriended him on Facebook.
I threw away my cell phone.
I drink the dreams away.
I threw away everything I can find that he ever gave me.
That ought to cut the ties.
The hardest thing to throw away was the Bible he gave me when I was sixteen.
It went everywhere I did.
I held it after my sex assault. In fact, I spent weeks reading it, page after page trying to find hope that there was a God who had a better plan for me.
It went with me on vacations.
It was with me when my boyfriend at the time surprised me with a minister and a dress.
It was with me when he beat me into unconsciousness.
It was with me when I lay in the hospital trying to recover from the subdural hemotoma.
When the doctor mixed my MRI up with that of a brain cancer patient, I held it as I heard that I had six months to live.
Six months later, when I went to another neurologist and learned that my name wasn't the one on the MRI, I reread that book in joy.
I took it with me to the battered woman's shelter.
It was with me when I lived in my car.
It was one of the few constants in my life.
After twenty-five years, the cover had torn apart.
I loved that book.
But, alas, it reminded me of HIM.
So, I threw it out in a heart-wrenching moment of trying to do the right thing.
I bought another one and put it in the spot the former book lay on the nightstand by my bed.
After six months, I decided to tear the plastic off of the old book.
I opened it for the first time last night.
I prayed and asked for guidance.
I swore up and down that the first verse I saw would be the one I would meditate upon.
I opened it up to the Song of Soloman 5:6
I opened for my beloved.
But my beloved had turned away and was gone.
I sought him, but I could not find him:
I called him but he gave me no answer.
Damn....now, it reminds me of him all over again.
I feel asleep with the book, meditating on love and loss. I found myself pondering the phrase
"Do not stir up nor awaken love until it pleases..."
and wondering about my prayers to find love. Twice, I found what I thought was love but it always turned out to be little more than a painful lesson.
Both times, I'd catch myself missing my old friend.
Both times, I felt ashamed for still loving my old friend.
This morning, I woke up from dreaming of painting a portrait of my old friend. Each stroke was a wish for his well-being.
Upon opening my eyes and finding it on my pillow, I dog-eared the page and set the book on my night stand. Something fell off the table.
I lean down to retrieve it.
It was a piece of the old Bible. A piece of the black corner had broken off. I'll use it as a bookmark.
Today is a challenging day for me. My daughter's fiancee left her for another. I'm torn on what to do. I can stay in this house and offer her free daycare or I can move away, pay my portion of the rent and give her father my old room. He lives in the basement apartment. It would be good for a young mother to live there rent-free until she can get on her feet.
I will probably spend the day praying for guidance.
Love ya,
S.
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