After calling Mr. Hotness the love of my life, there is no entry I can write to erase both the reality and the fantasy he and I experienced, and created together. All I know is this:
I have endured Suckallo days when everyone around me staggers, shouts or swears, while I walked in a bubble of safety: Marcus understood.
I have had difficult moments with my dad, and endured his unexpected anger and criticism, knowing I could share it all with Marcus, who sympathized.
I have drawn rabbits and robots and shown them to Marcus, who supported.
I have engaged in long stretches of familial archaeology, and showered off the dust in Marcus’s humor.
I have felt sexier, created more confidently, and ridden change with security, because of Marcus, everyday.
I have also kept my feelings to myself when he sounded like he’d rather keep the conversation light.
I have also struggled to divine his plans, when he remained silent about them.
I have also lain awake at night having the conversations I wanted to have with him, with myself.
I have accepted and expected him to leave his home, stable job, and country, to move to mine, despite all my current instability, because he said he wanted to. I have grabbed onto him when my parents’ crisis ripped the rug from under my ground, and he held on, I have stomped my foot when he let months pass without action, and he apologized, I have written long, long emails, and he has too.
Maybe it was all just a really silly idea.
I can’t share recent conversations here, however shocking I may find them, but does it matter? Months later, all we’ll remember from the convoluted, detailed, subtext-laden emails he and I exchanged over the past week, will be a few random lines and a set of wooden pens. No matter how hard you try, you can’t know someone until time or proximity has pushed each of you past the self-control of love’s first flurry. You can’t know until one of you grows tired of foot-stomping, and the other doesn’t want to apologize anymore. Words are said that can’t be taken back, knights’ armor dulls, and angels lose their wings.
You’re left eating Pop Tarts and shopping on Etsy for the perfect necklace for an exhausted heart… Grimly comforted by the knowledge that, at last, there is nothing left for you or your former partner to do.