My heart hurts so much this Valentines Day, even as I
make lots of art and celebrate all kinds of love past, present, and future. It
would be much easier if I could be angry, bitter, if I could blame The Shy One
and myself for teaming up to break our own hearts. Instead, I keep coming back to:
Curiosity.
Wonder.
Acceptance.
Maybe even the building blocks of peace and hope.
Yesterday, I did the maybe-ill-advised thing of
pulling The Shy One’s texts out of the “recently deleted” folder (Who knew that
was even a thing?) and gave it a little backwards read. Not all four thousand
something texts, I only made it as far back as December. But I read enough to
have my heart broken open by the truth: The Shy One tried his heart out until
the very, very end.
He loved me. I got very, very loved, dear readers.
There’s no amount of pain and loss and grief that can stop me from admitting
it.
I’m glad I undeleted those texts long enough to rescue
his last picture of the moon. To read his last “I love you too, Ma’am” (Kissy
face emoji) There was hope and cuteness for our Tuesday date. I don’t fully
understand why I couldn’t make it to that Tuesday night, or to our first trip
together that was supposed to be this weekend.
Without the fight for his attention, without the pain
of waiting to hear from him and missing him all the time (Well, I do still miss
him, but it’s different. Because I’ve accepted my longing. Because we’re both
free to build the lives we want.) I could scroll through those texts and feel
the love from him that I couldn’t always feel when we were together. When we
both were trying so, so hard.
It makes me wonder all over again (Without the
fix-myself-so-this-can-work pressure) if I’m just someone who is incapable of
being loved by a man. Because of the years without them. Because of the fear
and trauma and anger and all these years fighting the patriarchy.
But I must be capable of being loved, because I was, I
am. I almost believe what he said about loving me forever, even as he was
ending things.
I think looking back on those texts (Which I have
since re-deleted, and then deleted from the recently deleted) was a good
experiment. Even in a moment of such loss and hurt and Valentine’s Day, I cold
feel how dedicated he was, how much I was adored. One of my heart’s major
quests!
I still feel guilty that I just couldn’t let it be
enough, that I couldn’t have made it another day, another week.
Whenever we were at odds, grace is what he always
asked for, and what, for the most part, I gave. Grace is what I feel today,
with all the sadness. Now that I’m not fighting for whatever I was fighting
for, grace is easier to feel for both of us. It’s possible to feel kind,
empathetic, even a little at peace.
Grace.
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