Hearts We Hurt


Sometimes the idea of a relationship is better than the real relationship. I am realizing it. It can be hard to know if it’s the idea of staying with him that appeals to you or the actual thing. You welcome an idea into your head, like the way it makes you feel and so you make it a part of your life. Later you become attached to it based on what you think and not actual experiences and before you know it, the idea starts to mean more to you than it should.

My idea started with a smile. A kind gesture. His love for the full moon. My love for food. Our love for music. The hang outs. He liked coffee I didn’t. I liked reggae he didn’t. He over thought situations and tried to control me. I accepted that. I got pissed for nothing and blamed him. He accepted that. A portable fragile girl he liked me. A tall well built rugby player, always looking better than a body has the right to. It was how he opened doors for me. No! It was how he grabbed my hand in the darkened movie theater. No! It was how he said “dem” instead of “them” that was Sexy, but no. It was everything else. It was his plain random self.

It reached a point when things got too real for ideas. Poison set in and poured all over like that coffee he tried to make me like. I guess such is life. We just never know. From opening doors for me to slamming doors at me. From understanding him to judging him. From finishing each other’s sentences to shutting each other up.

Our last encounter, he bitterly reduced me to an acquaintance, made me sad then gave me up to God. I’m not saying what he did to blame him. If there’s anyone to blame it’s me. He was a heart I hurt and left when I should have stayed. It coulda been love. Mighta been. All of the relationships we find ourselves in - including the best ones - begin somewhere, even from sadness or fear or loneliness; it’s only the failure of the happening that allows you to boldly declare someone as an acquaintance with such a mingling of authority and self-mockery. Admit it. At the time of the happening you totally thought it was epic, and if things had happened differently you’d still be calling me sugar plum plum so how can you mock with authority? The breaking apart of a thing doesn’t negate what went down before it shattered.

Emotions aside though, I think I need to work on an effective comeback for anyone who says mean stuff to me because after reducing me to an acquaintance, the only thing I could think of telling him was that I Still Hate Coffee. Too Lame