v u l v a l i c i o u s
I think you were trying to pass it by me casually, as if you could say it and I wouldn't notice.
We're getting married.
No, I noticed. I was one lane too far over when you said it, eyes on the highway sign. Ahead, a car swerved to avoid a truck as the truck barreled over with its blinker flashing, not wanting to take the exit. I didn't get into an accident. I breathed and didn't cry. I said congratulations.
We're already married, actually.
I'm congratulating you more when the signal cuts out. The break from talking means I can cry for a split second, and I do. Cry a little and then breathe, breathe before the phone rings.
The thing is, I'm happy for you. Honestly, deeply, genuinely happy for you. That's why I called, really. I've been looking at your facebook and every time the pictures of the two of you hurt less and less until finally I saw one you took of her, she's standing under a sign that says "you make my heart sing" and pointing back at you, smiling. It's captioned something like, "no but you really do," and I saw it and smiled that kind of sad-happy smile that you get when you feel good for someone you love but sad for yourself.
I remember sitting with you around a fire and talking about what we wanted for each other after we broke up, and I said that I wanted you to find someone to love deeply and who could love you in return, that I wanted you to be happy. You didn't love that I said it, but it was what I felt.
Love is, after all, the most important thing to me. It's the glue that holds me together, messy and sticky and cracks still showing, but together nonetheless.
I used to have this quote on my wall, and I think of it often:
“Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.”
How could I be upset? I am, though. I'm hurting and reeling and sick to my stomach. We kept talking, and I was ok. We hung up and I wasn't anymore. I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to go to work tomorrow. How I'll feel when the thought of how much you never wanted to marry me sneaks up on me while I'm alone. What will happen when I think about being lonely on the drive home. The way I'll fill the silence in the car with my own voice in two different cadences to pretend I am talking with someone I'll love.
You're so happy. You're so in love. I am still so afraid to let anyone near me. I want intimacy so much, but the thought of getting there exhausts me. It's February. I have a long way to go.