I don’t want this to turn into a blog about love, but love is where I am right now. Consumed entirely by my hearts yearning for his return. Anyone who has experienced a separation from a loved one (I still can’t call it a break up) knows that the mornings and the nights are the worst.
When I manage to sleep, I wake before dawn and each time my consciousness returns its like the first time, realising the other side of the bed is cold and absent of any signs of life. I lie there in the dark, alone, remembering he’s gone and feeling the pain settle in for another endless day. My exhausted mind starts to race as I check the time and imagine his morning routine, imagine being a part of it once more.
My nights are spent similarly, lying awake longing for him or walking the house mindlessly. On the best nights my exhaustion gives in to sleep, on all others each hour passes with the heightened loneliness of a dark room in winter and an empty pillow to my left.
Day time is a not so lucky dip of despair, complete with tears and racing pulse, or absolute numbness, the result of a lack of sleep and the helpless truth of my inability to bring him back, unless he wants to.
It all hurts. Every breath, every small step and yet I have no choice. Perhaps that is the most excruciating part, all words, all expressions of love, all statements of adoration fall flat until, no, if ever, he is willing to pull me into his arms and call me his love again.
It has been two months, one week and two days and I have felt every second but no matter how much agony I experience my heart is nowhere near letting go. I found this quote during idle browsing, “The best thing about loving and being hurt is that you get to know what true love really is. For as gold is tested in fire, love will be perfected in pain.” (Marvin Jay M. Torres)
Maybe I’m prolonging the suffering, maybe I’m a fool to hold on to hope, but he seems the only love I have ever known and despite our problems in the past, perhaps this separation is solving the last of them? We have grown up together and come through more than most, what if we have finally reached the end of the proverbial tunnel, and all that is left, is to bask in the light? But is love really perfected in pain? Somehow that idea seems wrong?