I fight it. Everyday I fight it. Fight the thoughts. Fight the heart pounding if and when your name is mentioned. I try with all my might to convince myself that it’s nothing. That we are nothing. That it’s all in my head. In my dreams. I want to believe it isn’t so. That we aren’t so. That the dreams aren’t so. Some days I win. I win big. I’ve convinced myself. I’m over it. I’m moving on. I do move on. For a week, for a day, for an hour. But then I lose. I lose big. Because I think of you. Someone mentions your name. You call. You don’t call me. That’s playing into the dream. Playing into the hand. The hand that you’ve read. The hand that you know holds the answers. The answers you run from. The answers I sometimes run from. Sometimes attempt, feebly, to run from myself.
We run in circles. No, as someone wise told me, we run in a figure 8. Crossing then separating. Far away from each other. Then crossing paths again. The separating. Someday I’m told that half of that figure 8 will go away, somehow forming a heart. But right now, all I see is still a circle. A circle with a point. Does the point symbolize our final destination? Does the circular path eventually come to a point? Or is that point still only a crossing and then we circle around again? Right now I don’t know. I’m not sure that I’ll ever know.
I’m also not sure that my heart will ever stop pounding at the mere thought, the mere mention of your name. And it’s killing me inside. Some days are worse than others. Days when I am racing through life working, being a mom, a house keeper, a chef, it’s easier to keep the heart from pounding when you’re spoke of. But those days, like today, those days where I’m lonely. Where I’m alone with my thoughts. When I’m not running that marathon, it’s hard. It’s unbelievably hard. Some days too much to handle. Too much to comprehend. Too much to think about.
And it’s those days that make my resolve even stronger. I resolve to forget. Maybe not forget, but push through. Move past. Give up on the dream. But then, if one gives up on the dream, do we cease living? Does our life have any meaning? I sometimes wonder. Which is where my resolve weakens. So here I sit, weakened. Not used to that state. But I wait. But I won’t sit aimlessly. But know, I’m here.








