Our relationship lasted the length of my underarm hair
Cultivated at your request
A jungle of tangled velvet
Arms dancing proud and shy – A mark of belonging to
It felt so good to shave it yesterday
Clean, smooth, done
We traveled to Yosemite over Labor Day Weekend.
I was sure this trip would bring us one step closer to our shared dream: a home, a baby, Chinese takeout and a good movie on a Friday night.
I believed that our two unique strands of humanness would easily and naturally tie into a beautiful bow. And this bow would dangle in the sky over the city where we would begin together. A place where the rent is cheaper, the neighborhoods are more diverse and you could keep your job. It all made sense. I’d teach and write, you’d develop a side hustle, on the weekends we’d venture to new neighborhoods, check out the local markets – hands clasped, hearts synced, we’d feed each other new and exotic things: Gooseberries, spiced jerky, elderberry flower tincture. How perfect it would be.
Yet, in the park, among the monolithic granite and Ponderosa, I could not shake how impossible it felt to be considering leaving. The sky, shimmering alpine lakes, traveling clouds and nutmeg air, I knew it all so well. Things began to get hard for us.
We poked each other’s wounds
But under the Milky Way, Mars and Saturn, the stars reached down to confirm what I already knew. Their twinkling, piercing bodies fractured our bond as easily and painfully as plucked underarm air. It was not to be. Not now, not ever. It was the clarity I did not want.
I see how hard we worked for the possibility of creating together. How we considered, listened and empathized. We got vulnerable, jumped in with both feet but it was a river and not a tranquil pool. Together we would always be swimming up stream, and the life that we’d envisioned would feel difficult and forced. It was too fast, too overwhelming, too challenging. There was no room for joy.
So, I’m back to alone — regretfully but willingly.
And the possibility of never, finding my true love haunts me. I know what the wise people say – “You’re the one you’re waiting for. The void you feel will never be filled, it’s part of the human condition. When you stop looking, he appears.”
These things all may be true, but now I allow myself to simply be sad, lonely and a little disillusioned. I will come back to myself because I’m all I have. I will continue doing all the things that remind me that I’m it: Dancing to my own longing in the morning, writing, collecting fall leaves and eating late night pie. I know there is much good in this world, and I accept that maybe this life will be a solitary journey. And this, my friends, must be o.k. No more waiting, no more hoping, no more feeling like I’m being left behind. Just being.