Loving Her, Loving Yourself

This post was written by a Floh member that wishes to remain anonymous.

There’s much written about the happily-ever-afters, but maybe they are no longer the reality of our times. Our times are of the not-so-happily-never-afters. The never ending distracted chats, the bad dates and the odd stereotypical questions over and over again.

However, a few come along that give you hope momentarily. From the bleak, grey clouds hanging over our dating grounds, the thinnest streak of balmy sunshine breaks through. It seems like a miracle to witness it. No odd questions are asked, phone calls run late into the night, the journey seems unstoppable, the road feels clear to the promise of tomorrow.

Five years in the dating grounds and you didn’t feel it even once. Not even for a day. Something as simple as two people really into each other, with or without any context. She was the one rare person with whom tomorrow seemed possible, in spite of your huge differences. You share stories from your entire life in a matter of days. Five years and you have never had these conversations, you never had these moments. She lived not far from you. You crossed the same streets, the same neighborhoods, over and over. And finally you chance upon each other. The spark is new and it is raw. You see she is so different from you, but you know you would do anything for that spark, for that togetherness. You both claimed nothing was unsolvable if the intent was there.

But then, alas, the bleak clouds, which in a moment of weakness had allowed a tiny ray to slip in, exert their influence again. The millions of options available online beckon again to her, and she falls, she’s distracted again, she’s online again. Those few days of being in sync feel like a miracle.

Now cracks have already started appearing on the frozen river you were running on towards her and they hurt as if actual wounds inside you. You just couldn’t imagine parting and being strangers again with this one. The distracted lags you had gotten accustomed to in the dating grounds, seep into your WhatsApp conversations. You start to feel the subtle shift in tone, in language. Nothing is changed on the surface, yet you intuitively feel the waters withdrawing. Some of your texts are not even acknowledged now. You already start grieving. Your boats have already started to point in different directions. You are surprised at the ways of the universe. How quickly it brought someone to you out of nowhere and just how suddenly it is taking it all away. You are struck by a tsunami, by an ocean of memories from your past and your possible life together. And now you feel its waters receding. You don’t want to let go. But you can’t fight life, or a withdrawing wave.

You try to solve it, you meet one cloudy day in a quiet cafe. And then she just puts it simply, like many women before her did – “I don’t think it’ll work out”. And there, in an instant, you are strangers again. All those conversations and promises of tomorrow already behind you. Already history. You drop her, wait for some warmth in the parting words at least, but there is none, a cold handshake and an “It was nice to meet you”. And you never hear from her again. You lose so much in the blink of an eye, and she doesn’t even bat an eyelid. She reveals more of herself in her goodbye than in all the time you spent with her.

You’ll wake up feeling a vacuum, the promise your heart was gushing blood to every moment suddenly doesn’t exist anymore. But your blood will continue to gush, spilling to the floor. You struggle to fill it, fill it with things that make you forget. You rearrange your room, and slowly your entire life. You let go not only of her, but also the person that was you, when it was with her. She left you, but you remained. Now you slowly wriggle out of the corpse of your former self too. You find new ways to be alive again, find life again. You will extend the boundaries of your former self. So you have more breathing room. Even with the pain. So your life overwhelms the pinpricks, and your joy overwhelms your grief.

You fear being pounded by such tsunamis, being hit by such promise and then watching it crumble before your very eyes. But in the name of love, what if this was all you could get? In the hopes of making it work. In the hopes of this might finally be the one, you might go from one tsunami to the next. You could let them destroy you. Or you could let their sudden ferocity and loss, take you to new heights and depths within. Make them your device to finding yourself, if not finding everlasting love. Surrender to their force and let them destroy everything that is not really you. It could be a good detox, if nothing else.

You might never find someone who could walk along your journey, but you could find yourself. You could serve many others with your life, if not that special someone. If love never touches your life, that would not be the sole benediction to hang your whole life story with. All you can do is reinvent yourself completely every time you’re hit by such a tsunami. And hopefully you shall be stronger for the next one. Perhaps so strong and deep, that the next one stays and becomes a lake.

In time, you’ll heal. In time, you’ll warmly cherish these memories too. Time will bleach away the pain and the grief, leaving you with only the imprints of those moments together, how it felt, the way the sky looked and the wind blew those evenings, when you were so in awe of her and of each other. And one day, even the pain would feel like a small price to pay for these memories. Years would pass. Just walking along a quiet street on a cloudy day would suddenly remind you of her. And you would smile.