The vodka and diet coke slides down my throat, linking up with its' friends in my stomach. A little sick from dehydration and the lack of wearing throat protection on the commute to work in the mist, on the motorcyele, faithful Bucephalus, i am otherwise OK.
She called this even just as she had promised to, after an exchange of emails today about a concert the next, one she had booked while we were still together. Tearfully she makes it clear how hard saying what she needs to say is for her, whence she begins.
It boils down to the fact that she can't seem to forget me, can't seem to forget our times together. My heart aches for her daily, dreams of her scent and touch fill my morning REM, the desire to call guides my fingers to the now-fritzing cellphone, strange that it decided to completely crash and partially regain function so close to the emotional turmoil of the past few weeks.
She would like to get back together, to resume our relationship where we left off, for me to take her back. She, who dumped me, who let me know she can't be in a relationship right now, is asking me to take her back, nay is acting as if this has been but a brief repose, an interlude in an otherwise flawless and otherwise near-perfect relationship.
Oh, how your heart screams to say yes, to rush over on the black bike, into her waiting arms, and reconsummate your tryst, to lie in her scent, staring at the ceiling, cursing the day you gave in and your good fortune at once.
But not this motherfucker. Not me. You drink the big gulp, you face the consequences. You split up with me, send me packing, even invite me over to your place to pick up my shit, I'm sure as hell not going to take you back.
I must. I wish to god she hadn't called it off, hadn't told me over the phone at work that it was over, that that fateful day could be erased. I wish i could do it all over again, just to relive the hurt.
I tell her no, my heart rending, my future shaking with high magnitude, the chances of meeting someone so perfect and so perfectly matched flashing through my mind, the decimal spaces growing, and yet i say no, tell her that her decision, and her current emotional instability, coupled with the fact that she is still not divorced, legally, and that she stated just ten days ago that she can't give me 100%, can't give me her all, is still plagued, haunted by her inept and uncaring former mate, weigh in on my decision, tiling the needle to NO.
God how it hurts. The fear and insecurity flooding in with the dreaded realization that this kind of opportunity comes along once in a lifetime, that we fit so well, that we can make it through this.
Rational thought now, look through the fog of love and heartbreak, look through her tears, hope beyond hope, then BURY that hope, deep down where only chaos and fate can find it, bury it in the very fabric of spacetime, believe it to be, know it will be but let it go, to their tangeld web.
She takes it like a champ. She almost hangs up, but gives you the courtesy of staying on the line to wrap things up. In your heart you know it's best for both of you, you hope your call is right, and if not, at least you stuck to your guns. If in a year she doesn't take you back, stay positive. maybe it's still not the time. stay in the present
Ah, i digress. I yet cling to hope, yet feel the phantom hum of the phone on my left thigh, imagine it ringing, starting up with the urgency of answering the call. Perhaps, should chaos and fate see it fit, you will find each other again, perhaps, if she finds herself, is capable of giving you her all, and you her yours, perhaps then it can work.
But, for now, think no longer of it, let the strands of time strip it from your mind, leaving you once again alone, content, happily connected to your siblings, the air, your gods, but utterly alone, in a good way, your own master, the exchequeor of your account, the comptroller of expendable accounts, of dept, he who strays from the path, only to be welcomed back onto it.
To give life but to claim nothing,
To do your work but to set no store by it,
To be a leader, not a butcher,
This is called hidden Virtue.
Tao Teh Ching v.51
Olde Bouyah
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