My own Mr Big
I said to myself I wouldn’t write about him but I can hardly focus on anything else. He does this though. He fills my head and swims through my memories, he is scattered all through my past. I see his marks stitched into the fabric of my mind. He has been a fixed point in time for the past seven years; hardly changing and always there. I run circles around him. I build mazes and towers and yet he still finds a way inside. How many times have I cut him from my life only to go running full speed to grasp at the rope pulling him close to me again. He is unattainable and sits atop the pedestal I built for him all those years ago.
Was he worth it? The agonizing adoration I had for a man who has broken my heart more times than I dare say. I want to believe he loved me. That what we had was strong and real and worth every pit in my stomach, every moment of consuming grief.
I immediately thought of him when I first read Bright Star by John Keats. “I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”
Would I ever trade those moments? Tears streaming down my face as the words “I love you” came from his lips. I had no idea when I became so hopelessly consumed by the grief that my love for him brought; he neither was nor would ever be mine and I was drowning. The sweetest grief is the one that comes from love. When without realising it you have given yourself so completely over to someone that they have the power to be the light or the darkness in your day.
When I realised I had given him that power I changed my number and cut him from my life. I needed to detach myself from him, let the murky damaging water drain from my mind.
He says I twist his words, I say he twists his memories. Our accounts of events never match. Words are misconstrued and I am left empty and a little more broken.
After six years I finally had him in my bed. I tried to suppress the thoughts of forever that flooded every corner of my mind. After a month I was completely drained. He said I had 'misinterpreted' his words again. The pedestal crashed below him and I saw him for what he was just a boy who promised forever and yet couldn't give me a day. The man I loved didn't exist. I had fallen for his words when I should have been looking at his actions.
He's just a boy and I'm just a girl who is tired of waiting.