Do you want to be in love with life, with me?
We really are each other’s aren’t we?
I could hear the fondness in her voice. The true realization that we are bonded this deeply. That even in the time and space between us we would one day be truly together again.
I was going to call her and come see her. I was ready. Just a couple more hours of work, and I’d finally go see her and let her know: yes, let’s do this.
I could tell the smile she had on her face when she texted me that. Probably jamming to herself, her easy listenings, feeling in love with life, and then a fond thought of me crossed her mind, our ideas of what our future could really look like–and she wanted to let me know that, even through our distance at the moment.
I could tell the love in her eyes. That brilliance in them, the light in them. How she would be looking at me when she said those words. That she was in tune with me. With not a care in the world. Loving herself, loving me, loving with abandon, expressing herself, expressing this life so fully and truly.
That laugh she did when she knew what she said was funny and knew she got me in that moment too. Her little side eye. So empowered in her own being.
Knowing eventually I would find my way back to her. Probably wishing I was there to hug and kiss her and share the moment. When I was wishing the same.
I couldn’t wait to answer her text. In the rush of the day at work I got caught up. My plan was to call her, go see her, and tell her how deeply I loved her. Let’s do this. I grew, I wasn’t afraid anymore. This was finally our time.
I hadn’t felt so alive. Her message confirmed it, after all this time, she was here for me, expecting me to finally come to my senses and create a life with her. And here I was finally ready.
I finally had a moment to myself, when I started typing a response.
But before I knew it I was dialing, I wanted to talk to her, come see her, and finally start our lives together.
That was the last message she ever sent me.
I owe it to myself. I owe it to her to be the man she knew I was. The boundless spirit she believed in before I even saw it in myself.
I feel you through me. Living this life. And I only wish you in your human self were here.
But instead, I have to be at peace knowing that you are here now, loving me. An awareness, an observer to my waking life. And I can’t wait to be with you truly one day. We ran out of time here, but one day, that will be all we have.
As the phone was ringing, her sister walked into my work. I hung up.
I met her once. This second time, she walked in and I knew what was wrong. I fell apart. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at me with a cold disbelief. A pain I would never fully understand, because I didn’t understand when I had the chance. I looked at her with eyes asking.
She shook her head gently, holding back every tear she had. And she walked away. The weight of her being there–that she didn’t want to be–and was only there to communicate a truth that would change me forever.
She was gone. And that was all I ever had a chance to have. Even in her mortality, found a way to me, and let me know the depths that I would always feel. That I would never understand as long as I lived.
I felt all the air get completely taken out of my lungs. I thought my heart was going to burst out of my body when I knew I would never share the same space with her again. That I would never get to touch her again. The last time I held her face and looked in her eyes, caressing with my thumb that little dimple she didn’t really think she had. Her beautiful eyes told me the world without a single word. I was feeling at home, and that was the last time.
She had all that love for me. I knew that that was all I was ever going to be to her. A final thought. A final moment.
I would never see her loving bright eyes, or her smile again.
A part of me is still there on the ground, all that time ago. Barely processing that she’s truly gone.
All you need to know is this: romanticize your life. The good parts. The lows. The heavy. The free. Enjoy and fully live every moment. It’s all a unique richness.
Every moment, in its own way, uniquely your last.
And I was the lucky one. She looked at me with that look, she felt that way for me. I never thought I deserved that love until I knew her. Until I loved her.
If you don’t feel completely broken over the loss of who you love, then what kind of love is that?
The dissociation you feel when they’re no longer physically here. The tangible loss that everyone goes through, and yet is uniquely excruciating each time.
The realization that you don’t know who you are without that person.
In the end, you make it through. It becomes “livable.” You get used to the sadness and pain within you that will never truly heal.
Without that total ripping out of infinity to experience this physical reality…to feel death…
How can you say you’ve truly loved?
Ava Loreimy 