The Quieting
I did not believe love meant staying.
Somewhere along the way,
I forgot everything
I knew about love,
and everything I didn't know.
I stopped asking questions and started feeling.
Skepticism had once been a daily supplement,
but one day, I ran out.
I stopped wondering if we were growing
in the same direction,
if we were truly seeing one another,
if I was showing up honestly.
I stopped examining and started believing.
I was feeling deeply,
but I wasn't sharing deeply.
Then, strangely,
I wasn't even feeling at all.
The more I avoided the things that frightened me,
the quieter I became inside myself.
I mistook numbness for peace.
I mistook certainty for trust.
I mistook longing for intimacy.
In loving, I learned what love is,
and what love isn't.
I suspect I'll spend the rest of my life
learning that lesson over and over again.
I chased certainty where there wasn't any
and confused endurance for devotion.
I thought flexibility was kindness.
The boundaries between us were soft,
and I took comfort in that.
Every time a line was moved,
every time a hurt was forgiven,
every time a conversation ended with it's okay,
I believed we were choosing each other again.
What I didn't realize is that sometimes
people are not saying it's okay.
Sometimes they are saying,
I love you enough to endure this a little longer.
Those are not the same thing.
I spent so much time wishing to be understood
that I forgot to understand
what was happening in front of me.
I wanted to share how deeply I wanted to love.
I wanted to reveal the parts of me that were
scared, ashamed, lonely, hurting.
Every time closeness arrived,
I went somewhere just behind my eyes.
Every time honesty was required,
tears arrived first.
The tears were honest too.
Just not enough.
Maybe that's the strange thing about love.
Sometimes the person who loves you most
is the person who finally says enough.
Maybe they finally stopped loving you.
Surely they could no longer survive
loving you the way you had both let it get.
For a moment, I thought the end
was the opposite of love.
Now I think it is love in its most difficult form.
A boundary drawn at last.
A door that closed suddenly to one,
but had been patiently waited for by another.
A hand released
instead of held tighter.
Somewhere in losing myself,
I lost sight of them too.
Not the version that stayed.
Not the version that bent.
Not the version that carried more than their share.
The real person.
I wanted to know them.
Some people have to discover who they are
without someone standing in the way.
Maybe I have to discover who I am
when there is no one left to forgive me
before I learn to forgive myself.
