When unrequited, there’s really no sonant feedback coming from the other side, with time you learn to find strange definitions for the silences, maybe it’s the reticences that ultimately mean something, more than expected. It’s difficult to learn this way, but I’ll say that it’s maybe the best path to achieve personal growth, by getting to know love and life, independently and on your own. Experiencing rejection, or to better say it, the lack of reciprocity you so urgently needed, to comfort your heart is tough and she ain’t made to make it easy for you. She is free and willful, so are you, and yet you couldn’t hold your own freedom for long, after she got inside you. She owned you, always will. You were powerless, not anymore, you hope.
You improve yourself in impossible ways just to become worthy of a love she can’t express, a love she is probably unfit to receive, yet you tirelessly hand it over. In the end you’re left with nothing but a better you, someone a lot different from what you initially were. You grow bitter but kinder, turn hopeless but wiser, feel alone and whole.
How come is it so punishing to watch her, thriving, without me; but at the same time, how can it leave me so satisfied, to see her smiling, without me?
I’m almost relieved for not making part of her life, as I realize I was a little burden, my presence heavied the ambience and her spirit, maybe in a way only we both could sense, but it’s wasn’t right. Each time we’d meet, the distance between us, it widened and flourished with each word I wouldn’t dare to say and gaze I couldn’t even hold still anymore, for the silent look she’d give me from the rear-view mirror, penetrated me with a angst that felt frightening. I was just afraid that one day she would find the courage to say it’s over, to crush me by simply impeding me from experiencing the only moments that kept me going, those friendly, maybe drunk but surely tired car rides. Those short trips before sunrise where she’d lay her sleepy head against the semi-opened window, her golden stringed crown rhythmically flapping across the dark dusty steel door as the fresh wind passed by, eager to contemplate her beauty, but certainly not as much as I was; driving over those empty roads, losing track of what’s going on, every time I invited myself to look through that tiny mirror.
It’s so painful to notice things evolving that way, going down, as expected, and you suffer badly for not being surprised at all, nor capable of changing their course. You are seeing it happen and letting it die, waiting for the old flame to burnout with every absent look you two share. Silence always marks the beginning and the culmination, as well as the closure, of everything. Silence is pervasive. Look for it, and you’ll perceive how loudly it shouts sometimes.
That’s the heaviest part, when you consciously observe the last remains of affection she once offered, and you took for granted, now withering as you silently spectate. You don’t know what to say. Apologize for loving her? Delude yourself, professing needed lies to make things right, for a while? Keeping up this process, based merely on respect for her and fear that you won’t find the strength to go on and away, will end you, eventually.
You worry that by leaving her, you’ll be left with nothing. You’ll become a nullity from the moment she steals herself from you. Figuring this out, you may understand that dreaming your life is the closest to living the dream you’ll ever be, and so you recall the last goodbye you’ve heard from her, the one you wish you had never came to listen, and keep on trying to sleep.