“i would never do that to you. i promise. i have thought about it in the past, but i know you could and would only be able to take it one way. i will never do that to you.” the pause grew after the period, as she read it, re-read it, let it seep into her, and wallowed in the comfort it brought. “i believe you.” she said. simply and quietly. it was true. in that moment, the truest thing she’d ever known. she loved him so much for being able to make her believe it. she loved him so much for being able.
she sat upon the patio under the cool, west coast sun and watched the wind play through the leaves of the elm at the corner of the building. soaking up seattle sun, happier than she could recall being in all her life; happy for a wish made real, one of rare few. thoughts of new beginnings and ‘finallys’ and art, live music, the japanese garden, and more marched a slow, sanguine parade through her mind. and through it all, this ribbon of sorrow that would not be ignored. saudade. a lost friend introduced her to the word and taught her its meaning… the delicate beauty of a transient thing; the joy hiding under every sorrow, the sorrow whispering under every joy.
there is, she thought, a curious paradoxical duality to every moment. it made her chuckle, because duality was the call sign of suffering. but as a human in an all too human world, what else could she do? samsara sucks and is succor. she grimaced, realizing even this wasn’t going to stop her mind from picking at the thought of him like a scab.
third person writing helps, she realized. make it about someone else. some stranger. that way the tears aren’t really real and maybe the hurt won’t be as much so, either.
she understood that it was her fault. she fully understood she should never have given him as much as the time of day. she knew all along and lied to herself all along and wanted so much for him to prove her wrong about it. prove that it was possible to have friendship. she wanted him to prove her right that it was good and proper and rightful to care for him and not care for all the labels involved. that it was alright and proper to just be and love and not need to grasp after or ‘have’.
you’d think ideals would tarnish and shatter with enough mud and weight set upon them. but she’s never had them to do so. in fact, they seem to grow more resilient and strong for it. odd behavior, very odd indeed. but then, it wouldn’t quite be insane hope were it otherwise, she murmured to herself.
she realized that his ideals were just as alien and above it all. she realized he really thought it should be possible for someone to hide in a corner and be on hold or in stasis until needed, and be content to be this way. but she didn’t know any human so much an automaton as to manage it, and it seemed alien to her, and all the talk about lacking time or being busy only managed to mainline to the red flag: People do what they want to, always.
she sighed. why was she thinking about this again?