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WouldaCouldaShoulda

The flow of words continues. Can’t stem this tide quite yet. And this morning’s shower had me thinking about the “what ifs”. Dangerous and treacherous territory. The kind you can get lost in, even when you know better than to go there. And I’m wondering about certainty and illusion. How much of what we felt would have faded or been challenged by life’s “normal” problems. If the universe had spun us this way instead of that, would we have lasted anyway? Maybe you had baggage I didn’t know about. Maybe if things had been different you wouldn’t have been so quick to overlook mine. If I hadn’t saved your life, sat by your bedside, would you have been so forgiving? These things haunted me back then and now they return, unwelcome familiars, to eat away at me again. And what’s the point really? Why dwell on what you can never know? Like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden, we’ll never know whether it was an apple or a pomegranate or a mythical fruit that existed only in that time and place. We can only speculate. And in all likelihood, what seems magical was probably just what we say it was. An ordinary apple. Made extraordinary by the role it played in human history. You didn’t love me in any magical, perfect way. You just wanted to love me and I wanted to be loved. So simple.
And yet, because the last real thing you said to me was the most beautiful, I was left with the glory of hope instead of the simplicity of reality. Waiting for you to come back and reclaim me, fulfill the promise, renew the hope. And you’re never coming back, but I’m still here looking down at it dashed upon the rocks of happenstance.
Is it any wonder I’m afraid to hope. That I rather kill this before it’s born than let it grow only to disappoint me? Is it any wonder that I can’t live in the grey spaces? That I demand black and white answers only? And the logical, undamaged part of me knows how unfair that is. How unsustainable. But grief has made a tyrant of me and I know better than to try to shake her. She’ll go when she’s good and ready.
So maybe this isn’t a new beginning. Only a step in that direction. A learning piece so I can have a better chance next time. Or maybe this is it and the universe will spin us no matter what we try to make of this on our own.
Back to the maybes. Right where I started. But the day is beginning so I put grief back on the shelf. Later, I tell her. It’s not like she’s going anywhere.

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