Something so small, so very possibly entirely imaginary, seems to have such a very large and anguishing impact on me. There is something to be said for unconditional love, but I suppose it is another thing entirely when the object of that love has been absent from view for so long, so uninvolved in the process. Or is it? Isn’t it supposed to be the same thing with God? Aren’t we supposed to love him unconditionally without even asking for proof of His Divine Existence? Wouldn’t you react similarly if you thought you saw God out dancing? Would you know how to approach God and ask “Aren’t you God? I think I know you. I think I love you.”? Wouldn’t your heart try to tear itself from your bosom and your jaw go slack? Wouldn’t you find it hard to move, wouldn’t you stare? If you thought you saw God on the dancefloor.
Just an example. Of unconditional love for a being you never get to see in person. I don’t mean to imply that I worship this girl, that she is some sort of God to me. The last time we were together, our biggest disagreement was over how I reacted to her vices; I know she cannot be perfect. I just want to know … something. I want to know if she’s alive and well, if she’s happy … I don’t pretend that I deserve to know, but I’d like to have some sort of explanation about why she is so hard to find. If she was actually intentionally hiding for some reason. If I’m the reason she’s hiding, I want to stop looking for her. Like I said, I love her, and if she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me, all she has to do is let me know, and … I can learn to be okay with that. The problem has been that she didn’t let me know anything – she just disappeared without a word, without a trace, years ago, and I … want a resolution of some kind.
I am nothing if I am not hopeful. Of course, I hope that some sort of open communication can be created between us, that some sort of worthwhile connection has survived. I hope that the love I have felt for her was not misplaced, that she is really the worthwhile person I believe her to be, and that she will turn out to be worth … everything. I hope that more than just a resolution to my quest, I can find something more than just history between us; I hope I can find a future.
I could go on and on and on about this. I have. For years. I don’t believe that anyone who has known me for very long is not already aware of this “missing person” in my life. I could say simply “I think I ran into [her] this weekend,” and most every one of my friends would stop in their tracks and want to know the details. This is something I care so much about that it is somewhat contagious. Other people want me to find her. If they care about me, they don’t want to see me languishing here in the search with no leads. It turns out that most people don’t ever get the chance to experience profound love, but that doesn’t mean they don’t recognize and respect it in others. I know I wasn’t the best I could have been when I had the chance with her, and so does everyone I’ve talked to about her since I lost the chance to apologize. Since I lost the opportunity to try to do things right. I want to try to do things right.
I want to stop going on and on about what I’ve lost in her, and be able to go on and on to my friends about what I’ve got with her. I want to be able to have a relationship based on love instead of lonliness. I recently decided that if I couldn’t have love, I’d begin to rule out whole demographics of people in the search for a partner, but I just couldn’t get the ideal of love stricken from my heart and head. Then to stand next to love again for the first time in a long time (When did you leave, Sara?), it was just … a shock to my system. An unexpected reminder of what I haven’t really been a part of since … February ’98. (Some of you remember February. To the rest of you: don’t even bother asking. Just know it was the end of something worthwhile and the beginning of . . . something less than palatable to most involved.)
To the person that doesn’t have love, it is either something they can only dream of, or something they can only remember losing. I guess I do a little of both. Sometimes I get really mixed up, too; last night I dreamt of losing love. There is something to be said for dreaming, even when they’re ‘bad’ – at least you aren’t just waking up to the next day. I consider myself a patient person, and to a certain point this is true, but isn’t the waiting just supposed to make the getting there that much better?
If Saturday night was ‘getting there’ then all the waiting I’ve been doing didn’t do me a whole hell of a lot of good. I suppose if I had known what I was waiting for, I might have been more prepared, but whenever I asked myself what my plan was when I found her, I always knew that I couldn’t know until I saw her, until I was in her presence again. I suppose I always thought I’d have some sort of advance knowledge that it was her. I guess I never thoroughly considered just running into her accidentally, in public, somehow recognizing her and having to figure out what to say. It may have been the end of me.
I suppose my relationship with her didn’t change a whole lot when I lost contact with her; for much of our relationship we were seperated by thousands of miles. Most of our relationship was spent in anticipation of our next chance to communicate, our next opportunity to be together, sometimes months away. Now all I have left is the anticipation, and the void. I spend my time looking forward to my next opportunity to communicate with her, to be with her, and my best guess for when is that it must be just over the horizon. Just a little bit past the infinite, and then we can be together again. I suppose this is okay; if I can’t get a message to her, I can’t send the wrong message, I can’t upset or offend her, I can’t miscommunicate at all. I can’t make the relationship any worse than it already is.
Of course, there’s a little bit of dread in me about that next communication between us. Because it can get worse than it already is. Because she can just say that she doesn’t want to communicate with me at all, ever again. Because then even the anticipation would be gone. Because all I would be left with is this unconditional love for someone I can’t see and can’t even hope to see. Because I don’t want to be that way – I don’t want to be that guy.
I think I may already be that guy.
I fell. I fell so hard. I fell so deep. I fell so much into love. Three times. It was different every time, but it was just as punishing to me. I screwed it up, or did the wrong thing, or said the wrong thing, or just wasn’t loved as profoundly in return, and now I still love, but love won’t return my phone calls. Love moved away. Love disappeared, and now I am that guy. That guy you see and you see desperation and you wish you could do something about it, but you don’t want anything to do with desperation, so you stay away. That guy that you know somehow is looking for something you can’t offer him, so you don’t want to get near him. That guy with baggage he can’t seem to leave behind. You know the guy, and you’re just glad it isn’t you. Maybe you’re even glad you’ve never known a love that could effect a person that way.
I need to stop typing now. It’s getting late, and I need to wake up in the morning. Or maybe I’m running out of things to say. Or maybe I’m running out of things I’m comfortable saying. I suppose I may have already said too much. That is something that has been getting me in trouble for years, but … I think not saying something that is true is probably just as bad as saying something that isn’t. I just hope I know what I’m saying.