Your absence has a presence, despite the vast ocean that separates us. Absence looks like fear ~ mine ~ when a night fright wakes me up and I find myself alone, and my screams bleeding into the silence of this inky black night. It means I start to worry about forgetting the sound and texture of your voice. It also means running my fingers across the words of your handwritten notes, hoping to catch you there, somewhere in the spaces between the words. Absence means I talk to your photograph, which I have placed strategically on my dresser, making it the first thing I see when I awake, and the last thing I see when I fall asleep. It means I feel a gripping loneliness, which leaves hole in my heart shaped like you, a hole that nothing else can fill.
I miss you. However wrong that seems, I miss you. Despite the monster you became, the one I had to run from, I somehow have this delusion that you loved me. I tell myself that a narcissistic sociopath lacks the capacity to love. And then I lie to myself, insistent upon your love for me. Am I deluded, or a liar? I’m never sure. I can only describe our time together as surreal. I feel as though the monster wasn’t you. As though, you liked to play with gamma rays in your younger days and that’s the cause of that raging monster which manifests itself inside your body. How can that monster, who deliberately set out to physically harm me, be you ~ a loving man who held me tightly in the aftermath of a frightening nightmare? You became a frightening nightmare, one from which I had to escape, fearing for my life. How is it that I can still love you after all that? I don’t know. My heart still shatters in to a million pieces when I think of you. I think it always will.
Barely a week has passed since I left you, since I fled from you in fear. And already I find myself shouldering all the blame for the way I left things, for telling you good riddance as I walked past you and out the door. You’ve placed yourself out of my reach, I’ve been unable to reach you by phone. I have this aching dead space in the pit of my gut. Nothing and no one can dull or fill it. And my heart burns, just burns for you, for the passion which ignited itself between us. Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?
I told myself that I must make this work, that I must fix this broken thing between us, that I must travel to Crewkerne to face you, even if that seemed as likely as travelling back in time, I must see you. I could not live with myself if I did not try, if I did not grab hold with every last bit of strength remaining inside me. I wanted to be with you so desperately, I would do anything, say anything, carry as much blame as you want me to carry. Like that suffocating person, her head held under water, thrashes about, scratches, kicks, gurgles in her attempts to scream, yeah, like that, I would do anything, anything, to get you back, to get you to love me once more the way I believed you did.
Engulfed by a desperate, sick feeling, I could only wait for your call, like someone waiting to exhale. Everyone told me you’re better off without him, he’s no good for you, as though to comfort me. Well, these words did not comfort. They only left me wondering. Wondering, why couldn’t I see what these others saw so very clearly? Does love behave that blindly? And why couldn’t your brother’s love feed my heart sufficiently? What about you did I need, did my heart need, did my soul need? What? What? What?