An Exceedingly Long and Meaningful Title

The position of spectator is a useful one. A comfortable one. There were three months of giddy happiness, contentment, hope even. Surprise. And I let myself feel it. Floated on the love. It was nice really, as after a period of time, I had wondered if I was capable. Even where I couldn’t quite trust it, I could let it be, take a chance on it, not waste it. It is over now, wasn’t strong enough to withstand the upheaval of my parents having to live here for a time. There are only certain sacrifices he can make without punishing the reason for them. In what I realize is my usual fashion, I was still floating happily and ignoring the signs, when one night I went to put my arms around him and he jerked away in that old “don’t touch me” move that always tore at me. If I’d been paying more attention, remembering to watch more closely, I might have seen it coming and cooled my jets, but I didn’t, so I got the slap. The crash back to earth. It was a hard couple of weeks. I was surprised at how fresh the heartbreak felt. Surprised it still echoes when he barks at me or ignores me or ridicules me. But it’s getting much better now. I’m sliding back into old rhythms behind safe walls with a good view. Pleasant moments are pleasant in that distant impersonal way, unpleasant moments of his doing are on their way to becoming his again, and the urge to move closer, to touch and feel, is gone. The haze has blown away, and I can appreciate the gift of understanding. What I’m capable of, what we are and are not. Questions were answered. Curiosity fed. I’m just a bit of an Icarus, but I survive. It was a beautiful flight. ❤️