rambling

I had a difficult time staying asleep last night. I was awake from 2 a.m until around 6 a.m. I wasn't crying. I was just lying in bed, uncomfortable. My stomach fluttered with anxiety as I reflected on my relationship with B.

I cannot even begin to list the amazing and incredible good times we had. Our bad times were very serious, but we were always there for each other. Always. And because of that, we triumphed over the rough times victoriously, happily, more in love than ever.

So what happened?

And why wasn't I crying this morning?

I've talked to a couple friends of ours...and every reaction has the same tone. Here is a sample:

"He did what? I'm going to kick his ass." (pacifist friend in Florida)
"But you're the best thing that ever happened to him." (another friend in Florida)
"Holy shit!!!!! You know this is his illness, he would never do this to you!" (lovely friend in Washington state)

and so on...

When I examine it closely, when I analyze what happened--it doesn't fit. It just doesn't make sense, it doesn't fit with B at all. Oh, it's always dangerous to analyze things though, isn't it?! You run the serious risk of over-analyzing the situation and reading into things that aren't there.

Long story short, I am mourning the death of us. But I'm not convinced we're dead just yet. I just don't have any sense of finality, and I suppose that's one thing I'm going to have to work on in the next couple of days: truly accepting the painful realities: I am single. I will never again lie in his arms, nor he in mine. I won't wake up to hear his breathing. I won't put my head on his chest and hear his heartbeat. I won't eat his cooking again. I won't giggle under the sheets. I won't share our inside jokes with anyone. No one in my life will understand the significance of Wendover, Utah.

The list goes on, and surely, you have better things to do.

My mind wanders back to the Symposium--oh, Aristophanes, how I long to be with my other half!