This morning I was supposed to rise next to my partner in sunny California. Preparing myself for yet another round of interviews to finally make my mark in my “new city”. Instead, I was at the post office on 138th and 5th avenue in Harlem, mailing the keys that once opened his doors to me. The emotions were surreal. I swallowed back tears and looked away from the cashier as she placed a stamp on the envelope that I sealed the day before.
I didn’t cry much until today. I received a package with items that I had given out of concern and generosity. I stood in my kitchen in disbelief. I could now confirm for the second time in my life that I was on the other side of hurt. You know, the hurt that you caused.
This break-up is no easy feat, but inevitable. For years, this rollercoaster was safe. It felt comfortable. Love filled any room that we were in together, that whenever he left, it felt empty. I’d experience that for around 5 years. Trying to bridge the gap between desire and reality. I fought for a Love that didn’t have the depth of sureness. That’s what we strive for in relationships, it’s what sets the tone to forever, it’s what makes commitment doable – a sureness of Love.
In my last greatest attempt at a sureness of Love, I reach out to his best friend, and only friend I had communication with, and asked that he support the man that I am sure I Loved in one of the hardest times of his life. Because that’s who I am but can no longer be to him.
I’m unsure what this means now, but the lesson will reveal itself later.