My Broken Heart — Slightly Stained and Kind of Skewed
In knots, my heart deflated
Love is always bestowed as a gift — freely, willingly and without expectation. We don’t love to be loved; we love to love. — Leo Buscaglia
The first time I remember discussing love was at the kitchen table. And that was after I used up half my valentine’s day cards by giving them out to my family. I had even seen fit to include our family dogs among those special enough to receive my valentine’s.
Why would I hand out cards to kids who did not like me? Besides, I loved my family. Kids at school were lucky to have my like. They were not always kind.
I did not spend time with most of the kids from school. There are seven children in my family, so I usually spent my time with them. I was far more inclined to put on a pair of skates to skate up to the outdoor rink a block away, where I could skate for hours. Or we would hike, play board games or read. And I cherished those days when I discovered a pocket of time to spend alone with one of my parents.
It was not until sixth grade that I first heard whispers about people loving people. And that was second-hand from the fringes of small groups of cool girls in the schoolyard.
My enlightenment through a publication by Kim Casali called “Love is…” was further amended.
Love is such an anomaly. Who knows when and where it will strike. No one is safe from the vagaries of love. It takes prisoners and holds them until long after the bloom of youth ceases to exist.
It skews your mind. One minute you mistake infatuation for love. And do not forget jealousy is mistakenly associated with it.
Jealousy finds no home in real love. Instead, jealousy is the uncertainty of an immature relationship. For was it love — honest love — that comes with an innate trust in one another.
Erich Fromm puts it this way — Immature love says: ‘I love you because I need you.’ Mature love says ‘I need you because I love you.’
No, you can never have enough love to make up for both of you. Not one-sided, nor unrequited love. Those instances are not about healthy love. They turn ugly with time. An uneven balance of feelings pushes the giver into a place dark enough to burn the mightiest of warriors.
In life, many people settle with others they are fond of or like. Neither is love but a strong feeling of like.
When you do come across true love, It will knock you off your feet. It will make you do things you never thought you could. Good things. Brave things. Some naughty things. It will color your world forever.
Honest to goodness, love is messy. But when it breaks your heart, you will not try to tear down or destroy the person you love. You cannot. You will walk away and just be.
Most of all, it will change you as it changed me.
Comparable to a movie, I walked around a corner as he opened the lobby door. A gust of wind heralded his arrival, and it lifted a lock of hair from his brow while his car coat fluttered around his legs. When he stepped over the threshold, everything else receded into the background.
It was him.
It was me.
Taken aback, never had I ever felt that way.
I half expected Roger Rabbit to show up and help roll my tongue back into my head. He parted his lips to reveal a set of teeth bright enough to make my eyes water. One glance at the generous curve of his bottom lip and my tongue raced to whet mine.
His eyes glowed like a large cat spying its prey, and when our eyes clashed, he pinned me where I stood.
It was primeval.
That one gaze wiped all those years of hurt, anger, and pain born of inadequate relationships. With that one connection, he exposed my very last ember of hope for love. It infused the breath sorely needed to stir life into the banked fire deep inside me.
A fire this stranger ignited.
An acquaintance introduced me to this man. A man whose sheer presence rooted my feet to the floor integrated my heart to his. He held out his hand. I did not. Cognizant of our audience, I held my breath and placed my hand in his. Strong, warm fingers closed around mine.
Blood coursed through my veins like I struggled to hold onto the side of a raft while traversing a set of rapids. The sound of a thousand drums reverberated in my ears, and when he spoke to me, I could not hear.
I uttered a response. Something intangible. Breathless, I did not recognize my voice. If I did not know better, I would have sworn I had run a marathon.
It was all we could do to release each other’s hands. At that moment, we both knew we would not walk away from one another unscathed.
Later, my acquaintance asked if we met before. I told him no. He said the guy told him we knew one another.
How do you come back from a statement like that? In another lifetime? Perhaps. If you believe in reincarnation. Yes. We were a couple. I knew him before I met him. Everywhere I was, he was. I tried to stay away from him.
I like pockets. And as is my habit, I stuff them with papers, pens, keys, and so on. There were times when he stood beside me and engaged me in conversation. Then, he would show me a pen or some keys or whatever trinket he had acquired.
I would acknowledge the items only to realize he removed them from my pockets. The twinkle in his eyes would give him away. It was then I understood, with him, there was no foreign invasion. My body recognized no separation between us. With us, there was no such thing as personal space. No danger.
My body was ready to play. I did not know where he began nor where I ended. We were one. Our hearts knew each other long before we met.
It was like jumping into shark-infested waters or a pool of lava, and he was my kryptonite. Enigmatic and dangerous. My head warned me.
Even now, on those hot summer days when a breeze blows across my skin, it is his thumb tracing my bottom lip. The memory flares at that moment just before he drops his head to press his lips across mine.
The subtle pressure, elusive yet insistent that draws me in to fully immerse me in the union of him and me. Lost but so vulnerable to one another. A time when anyone can sneak up on you and you are entirely unaware because no one exists but the two of you.
When the chill of winter encases me in its icy clutches, I seek the protection of my parka. Sometimes when I snuggle deep inside, it reminds me of the warmth of his embrace.
Early some mornings, when my mind hinges between the planes of dreams and waking, I hear his voice tease me awake.
He was my heart. Maybe I was his. Now he knows me not.
To this day, when the sun is at its zenith, if you look real close, you will see his shadow in my eyes.
Thank you for reading.
