A Chapter of Grieving Love

A Chapter of Grieving Love 


The silence that falls between moments is jarring, alarming. The momentum of the clouds passing or the sun's rays  ceasing for just a moment. In that fractional space between the now and the next, births an unapproved mental field trip. 


Denial

The field trip forms sometimes over the peaks of the life we shared, the love we bore. A birds eye view gliding over the tapestry of a myriad of broached firsts. A love between two sons, bright enough, strong and sure enough to take news home to family. Fully knowing the lifestyle choice would raise tensions, create dissent. But this love was worth raising fire at home.

Then, across the plains of times old, times fresh still being etched into memory. Brilliant waves of family vacations, the angst and joy of bringing you to family dinner, UFC fight nights, poetry open mic nights weave together amassing a vibrant field of dreams.A beautiful unity in love rose to dethrone assumptions and aspersions. Family functions now came with a second spot reserved for the person I chose to get after this life with. 

The abrupt soaring over time lands sweet and stirs about a smile. The contrasting myriad of memories that had sown seeds and brought to life these plains. This field of dreams is fleeting escape, freeing delay of the acceptance that once ripe and rich lands have grown arid, barren. What rich life sprang from the soil will dissipate dwindle. For the weaving dreams and roaring springs of a love pleasantly ablaze have extinguished. 

The mental field trip comes to a close as quick as the adventure had obtrusively come. A blink sets me back from momentary pause and drops me back somewhere seconds further forward between now and next. 

Anger 

The unapproved mental field trip chimes in again, and takes me on a bird's eye view through valleys and watery crags memory won’t allow me to forget.


That isn’t to say this iteration of love didn’t have a glimmer or glow of something gilded in gold because at once it did. Then it became a working love. Something to be fixed. Patience and forgiveness were splintered in a shrapnel of unresolved hurts and fights. The hue imbued faith that once protected my choice in love is weighed down and sinking. A faith that offered assurance, a faith that kept me buoyant in the throes of distrust, insecurity, and inadequacy, fell like a levy when evidence began to stack up, these mental stings were less internal mental stirrings, then the reality that faith was hiding. 

The friend you had over because you needed new friends, that you assured me nothing undue would happen. Then as I came down from bed for a glass of water, and saw you sexually involved made your words foreshadowing to your earnest intent. Would you have ever told me? Would this just be a secret kept that fuels your next sweet gesture?

I left for a few days and lied. And until this day I kept up the lie because I made the choice to come back. You blamed it on drinking. You provided me with words that things in the future would be different, words I would grow to resent. 

Because nowadays you’re coming home hours later, saying I drove around and went to the park. But with hair disheveled and alcohol often on your breath, my mind jumps between mental stings and things I wouldn’t care to bring up. I’m happy that you’re home. I’ll save us the fight. I’m banking on the words that things will be different and maybe they were, but never for the better. 

Time apart grew, and time together diminished and that was the new norm. Why any time we had a rare free moment you would make a sudden departure to a friend's house? Why when I tried to engage in the conversation you talked over me, pushed my buttons until I would find my own thing to do. Why did you lead me on when your intentions were abundantly clear that you didn’t want me around? Why was I arguing the point that you don’t love me anymore and for you to prove that wrong?

This was love, this was love. At a point this was love. My ticket punched for having found my person. This was love until it wasn’t. 

The levy fell, the mental stings leaving their mark, partially quelled as I watched our peaks reduce to dust, and the field of dreams dwindle and decay. I stand again somewhere between now and the next, a bruised soul with a small smile to show, saying to myself, this was love, this was love, this was once love. 

A blink again sets me back to time a bit further on down the road, having bore love’s whole journey from birth, rise, crescendo, and the mighty fall. 

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