Archive for December, 2016

Phipps is gone. I mean, not really. But it’s gone for me. The magic it’s held for me all these years is dead.

I went a few nights ago with friends to enjoy the holiday flowers and lights, but it was just painful. Too many memories.

It was one of our favorite places to go together, especially in the winter–the warmth, the dirt and flower smell, the locally grown, delicious food in the cafe–it was flora therapy for both our souls. I’ve been looking forward to spending plenty of time there through January and February to help ward off the inevitable deep winter depression. To relive, in my imagination until she came home, those many calm and happy moments we had together strolling through the gardens, testing our memories for the names of various plants and flowers, just enjoying the company of someone who shared our mutual love of plants and gardening.

But now it’s poison. This place that was a respite, a safe haven from my various mental and emotional demons, this place that I’ve used to keep me emotionally connected to her while she’s away…it’s turned on me.

Her presence haunted every path. I could hear her voice reminding me of the names of flowers I can never remember. I could see her long fingers stretch out to gently hold still a single blossom for me to inhale. She’d always ask, “Does it sniff good?”

Everything smells sweeter when I share it with her. I learned so much from these visits, not just about plants, but about her, about us, about peace, about the soothing effect nature has on me, about the importance of shared interests and passions.

My love of growing things existed before we were together, and maybe it will continue even now that we’re over. But it really might not. She’s a true nurturer, a true gardener. She brought to life and cultivated this seedling interest I’ve always had, and it’s flourished and grown into a full-fledged life passion under her care and influence. It’s likely to whither and die without the gardener, and I’m honestly willing to let it. I will never enjoy poppies in the spring without her. Who will be excited with me when the first brave crocus or snowdrop (I learned from her that they’re called Galanthus) peeks its tentative greens through the frozen winter ground? I don’t care whether my paw paw trees produce fruit if she’s not here to share it with me. Every plant in my garden will wilt in the shadow of so many painful memories that used to sustain me while she’s been away.

But life will not be returning to my garden this spring because she’s not returning. What’s the point in having a beautiful garden to wander through when I don’t have her to share it with me? It’s just not the same to make rounds through the garden and talk to the plants without her. It doesn’t matter whether they’re in my yard or at Phipps…

…they’re all traitors now.


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No Answers

How were we talking about wedding ideas one day, and a week later we’re over? How were we buying a house together one day, and within a month I’m packing all your things and your friend is moving them out? How is this happening? How does someone stop loving that fast? I wish I could.

How could I have known standing on that sidewalk outside the bus that took you away six months ago was the last time you’d kiss me? I’ve been living on the anticipation of your homecoming all this time.

Now there isn’t one. It’s just too cruel.

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Whatever time is, it’s cruel.

Thirty years. It took thirty years for us to connect and fall in love.

Six years. And we only got six years together.

However foolish it may be, I will wait another thirty years for her.

Even if it meant we’d only get another six years. Or six months. Or six days. 

I will wait. And grow and learn and better myself. I will wait through any amount of time for any amount of time with her again.

That will always be true.

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I don’t know how I am where I am. I don’t know how we’re here. But we’re broken and I’m dying.

Except that I’m not dying, and that’s the worst part.

I wish I would. It would be a relief.

I’m so tired of struggling to live. Striving to survive. Fighting to get through it.

Tired of hearing all the “this too shall pass” and “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” and “time heals all wounds” platitudes.

This too might pass, and that’s my greatest fear and pain–that the love of my life changed her mind and is passing me by.

What doesn’t kill me is a tease. It brings me to the brink and leaves me there gasping for breath and wishing for death.

Time is a voyeur and heals nothing. Time is not active. It merely passes and looks on indifferently while life beats the shit out of me.

My life has been an endless parade of pain and hardship and people who leave. Event after hateful, agonizing event without a break.

I thought she was my karma. I thought she was the universe finally handing me the payout for all my grief.

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