So you’ve broken up with the person you thought you loved. The person whose face was indelibly etched in your mind for every day of your relationship; whose dreams were a part of yours and whose problems often lay on your own shoulders – not that it mattered for their love for you enabled you to always stand tall and carry them with grace.
Now that person is gone and you are sure that somehow, through the force and power of love, they will return to you. How could they not? Afterall, you shared so many nights dying in one another’s arms, sharing ideas, thoughts, vistas. You knew them better than anyone else on the planet. There is no way they can just walk quietly out of your life is there? Irrespective of the deal breaker, you are adamant, with conviction on your side, that they should return.
What happens however, when they don’t? When weeks upon weeks lapse without a single communication from them and the days taunt you; sun rise serving as a constant reminder that they are somewhere, living without you, perhaps not even thinking about you.
When I broke up with my last boyfriend, A.G, I so believed in our emotional and physical connection that I was certain of our invincibility. We had argued many a time and yet we stood strong, relishing our making up sessions and feeling ever grateful that we were back where we inevitably and evidently belonged – with one another, in one another.
We did not think ourselves trivial in our reconciliations. We would spend hours reflecting on our relationship – where did we go wrong? How could we improve? Why did we think we created these hurdles? Our evaluations were made far more interesting by the fact that we were usually in bed at the time.
So when we created one hurdle too high, my world came crashing down as I realised that the evaluation had reached its demise; as had our tumultuous relationship.
The ensuing weeks were the hardest of my personal life. My heart lay heavy in a vacant vessel with a mind that was hijacked with images of his eyes, voice, touch, smile.
I was certain that he would return. Ater all, if you loved something were you not supposed to set it free in the hope that it would return and thus be yours forever? Perhaps much of love was manifested in waiting and that I should do just that.
The irony, however, of waiting for love, is that life does not wait and you are, many times against your will, compelled to ‘get on with it’. Pretty soon, you find yourself saying yes to going out for those work drinks you refused so often when you were together; you start to take pleasure in your own company again, if you ever stopped, and your heart begins to lift. For you are you and you will always be.
It’s usually around this time when your elusive love comes knocking on your door, or in my case, sitting on my doorstep, begging for me back. I cannot and shall not lie; there was a huge part of my being that was not only smug but incredibly relieved. Great! This means that I was worthy, that he did love me and that our relationship impacted as greatly on him as it did me.
Once the smugness and validation dissipates, you are left with the debris feelings, emotions and memories. Do you risk going back now that you’re almost on your way back to happy singleville? Or do you too get down on that doorstep and kiss him the way you always have?
Of course, as with all things love, there is no uniform answer. Why would there be? For nothing is logical and nothing in love is ever ubiquitous. I know this because not only did I kneel down on that doorstep, but I stayed there for 3 hours…and 4 years after that.
I guess I just believed.