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Monday, June 13, 2005

When You Say You Are Sorry

My heart does not hurt ~ nor my chest ache. Inside myself I am not sure what this is ~ this void which is so very like nothing I have ever felt. I had been empty ~ I am not now. I had felt the pain of a struggling ego as its pride was torn away ~ at the time I mistook that for a broken heart. My ego is not hurting. No gasp of agony as the sting betrayal leaks poison into my veins. No ~ none of those things.
At first your words had caused a cold shockwave to freeze my blood and internal organs. My disbelief acting as blinders to my vision. Then I felt the opening of detachment ~ the burn of a real soul-deep wound opening as the razor sharp words peeled back the thick shell of safety I keep myself in. A deep breath with no oxygen and dust lighting a fire in my eyes as if tears.
There is nothing for me to say.
Over the next few days anger emerged from the chrysalis of sadness and still being with you gave me a peace I ~ even now ~ do not understand. I couldn’t look at you eye to eye ~ I could not smile at you ~ my eyes did not sparkle. Outside I was distracted and you repeatedly asked what was wrong. Inside of myself I was drifting through confusion ~ how could I stand to be near you ~ how could I still feel as if I needed your presence to help me find my clarity?
“Are you okay?” You ask me. Your face is holding a look of accusation. I nod ~ fully aware that will not suffice. I know how much you dislike not knowing what is on my mind ~ especially when it seems that something is wrong. “You seem lost.”
“Lost?” I answer with a question. I glance at you only long enough to catch the blatant look of ‘that’s what I said’ which you have glued to your beautiful face. “Maybe. I just need to figure things out, just a little blown from the weekend.”

I drive for an hour after I put you to bed. I can’t understand what is happening to me. I feel like a doll wrapped in plastic and packed in a box waiting her trip into the attic. I feel suspended and still ~ I feel like a tornado has me in it’s middle where the world is freakishly calm inside the forceful chaos. Movie reel memories as sweet as a child picking flowers and yet no emotion arrives with them.

I love you ~ I know it. I live it ~ I am it. Tonight ~ I do not feel it.

So I write you a letter ~ faithful way to talk without talking. Pour it all out ~ how I am not mad with you ~ I am mad with me. That I should give you such power and without any thought ~ that I should release myself to you and let you have the frail and real parts of my soul and heart. That I should be so utterly stupid. Fear to give it to you ~ fear that you will misunderstand ~ get angry.

You read it and defend and then slowly understand and offer the words, I’m sorry. If I hurt you. I’m sorry.
My response is sincere, “I appreciate the gesture of the words.”
That statement seems to catch you off guard and you rethink and say it again and then it seem that the light goes on and you say, “I am sorry that you feel that you chose wrong and I am sorry that you regret giving yourself to me and I am sorry that you feel like I wasn’t the right person.”
I could swear that you mean it. Thank you.

I could swear that you feel something ~ only I have been wrong so many times before.


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