Fragments of 48 Hours

He’s not just a coworker, but a friend. He came in my office and sat down. We chatted for a bit, but something was strange about his manner, the way he talked. Finally, he patted my knee, in a comforting sort of way. “There is something you need to know,” he said. “Matt is married.”

Matt is married.

The air was sucked out of the room, and I just stared at him. Slowly, the rims of my eyes felt damp, and before I knew it, I was starting to cry. I felt like I had been punched. I wasn't breathing. I wasn't listening. I wasn't even seeing. I was just staring blankly ahead as my coworker talked. I have no idea what he even said after that point. But I know that that sentence: “Matt is married” will echo in my head for the rest of my life.

~

I cried, curled up on the floor for an hour. Why the floor? I don’t know. Just felt so heavy, the floor seemed like the only place I could reach.

~

“There are layers to things like this,” my roommate said. “You get over certain layers, but then, new layers show up, and you have to learn how to get over those ones too.”

~

“Why didn't you tell me Matt had married?”

“I didn't know how to tell you,” he said: the man who I had once called "Dad," during the days when I was the one getting ready to marry his son.

“You’re still in my heart.” His eyes filled with tears.

“And you’re still my family,” I said, and we hugged.

~

“How could I develop a relationship with someone else if I held onto ours?” he asked in his letter. He asked so many questions, far too many for a 2-month long relationship where our physical intimacy never went much further than a kiss on the cheek and hand-holding. Yet, here he was, 6 years later, asking if we could have another chance. He’s in his 30s, yet he has never dated anyone else, and had clung to the memory of those two, short, awkward months when I was a teenager and didn't have a clue what I was doing.

I felt bad for him. The whole letter was just sad. He’s never allowed himself to live. He had spent years holding on to something that was never really there to begin with. And it hurt me to see that he had never moved on. I wrote back and thanked him for his honesty and told him that that part of my life had closed. I am a different now. I've moved on. I wished him all the best in the future. And that was it.

~

Not so. All of Facebook has now seen his latest status update, where he dragged me through the mud. What did I ever do to you? Nothing. I was always kind to you.

~

“Abigail. She’s dead. She passed away this morning.”

My empty silence filled the room when he delivered the news. Our mutual friend had only been sick for a matter of weeks. She didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to her very young daughter. The cancer just took her—like that. I didn't have an answer. I just zoned out while he talked.

It was so quick. So quick. I don’t understand. Why do there have to be orphans? The two of them—they were all each other had. Now the little girl has no one. 

A Whispered Reminder

Have you ever heard that little voice inside of you tell you that something is still missing? It isn't a loud voice that demands to be heard, but rather, a quiet whisper that is almost easy to miss. For me, it simply gives me a little nudge every now and again to remind me that despite my happiness, I'm not entirely whole.

Years ago, that feeling had been much greater. Back when I lived at home, I knew that if I didn't leave, if I didn't run away just once, and see a little more of the world, I'd regret it my entire life. So, I ran, and it was wonderful. That feeling, that inner voice got smaller.

~

It went away entirely once.

I don't believe that any human being can complete you, but I do believe that it is possible for someone to come along and understand your soul in such a deep way that that little whispered, "There's something more..." is finally silenced.

"I found him whom my soul loves," Solomon said (Song of Solomon 3:4 AMP). And so had I.

I'm on my own again. But that's okay. I've grown to enjoy my life how it is, regardless of who is with me, or when I am alone. I'm never lonely anymore. I have myself for company, so I really doubt that I'll ever be lonely again. I don't know how it took me so long to figure that out.

But even with my contentment, for I really am satisfied with life, and my heart isn't broken anymore, sometimes I still hear my heart's (or is it my soul's?) whisper, "There is more..." and I am reminded that I once felt this entire sense of wholeness.

But then, sometimes you make eye contact with a stranger, and your heart leaps. "Could it be?" it asks and begs to know if it could be made whole again. Or, words on a page, conversations with a kindred soul tell you that there is another one like you—someone who understand and wants to feel that sense of wholeness again, or even for the first time. 

~

If I thought I had a chance with you, if I thought you might make a little room for me in my life, I would say to you so many things that have been welling up inside of me: 

"Could you maybe...if it's not too much trouble...take a little time with me? I cherish the words that leave your mouth, serious or silly. Let's explore the dark nights and wander through the sun-lit days. My hand has a place for yours to land. I think your fingers could fit so nicely between mine." 

But you have your life, and I have mine. While I look up at you and smile, I'd never invade your life. My soul thinks you could be one who would understand, because so far, you have...but I don't know if I can ever take that chance. If I gambled and lost (and haven't I always been terrible in casinos?), you would be the one to really tear my heart into pieces. 

Inspired

Some days are a dry well,

An empty conversation:

“How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Didn't we go through this yesterday?

Sometimes you’re not inspired.

The place where you live in your brain is dying for a scrap of sustenance.

“I never could write about him,” she said.

“There was nothing to write, because there was nothing to live.”

Yet,

Sometimes, there is a touch.

A spark.

Someone says a word,  

Like “cherish” or “reverie,”

And you come alive.

Your pen flows freely across the paper,

Or your fingers across the keys,

And you just know…

Life was meant to be so much more than drudgery,

Blank conversations

And repetitive days.

Life was meant to be lived

Inspired.