Soul Searching Part 2: A Lost Dream

I never understood why people were happy to hear me say that I've realized I want something different, that he's become everything I have ever wanted, everything I knew he would become, the potential I saw in him, reached but that's no longer what I want anymore. Everything he embodies is beautiful, great, admirable, and inspiring, it's just not my idea of those things. People were excited to here me say those words, but it only left me feeling empty, sad, depressed, heartbroken. I couldn't wrap my mind around their excitement; their smiles were so effortless, while my tears were a struggle to hold back. All I felt was sadness. I felt like I had missed out on something so special because it's too late now; I am in love with someone I no longer desire. 

I think I get it now. I miss him, I do. But most of all, I miss the memories, the feelings, his laugh and embrace. I'm sad to see that go. He's changed and so have I. We're not meant to be together, and that's fine. I'm happy for him and his new lifestyle, and I wouldn't change mine for the world. I just never would have thought it'd end up this way. There's a lost hope in that, a lost dream. I guess that's what I'm grieving. I'm not mourning a lost love, that will always be there; I will always love him. It will just be from a distance, that I've chosen to create. Two different lives met for a time, shared a love; he changed my world and deepened my heart. He will always be special to me and make me smile. And I think for a long time, I wanted him to be the only one to be able to do that. My one and only. Now I've realized that's not the case. I desire something different, someone different. It's an interesting feeling. My heart wants it to be him, but slowly it's learning it won't be. He won't be what makes me ultimately happy. He holds such a special place in my heart that will never be replaced, but he belongs there as a memory, not as a future plan. And that's okay, well I'm learning to be okay with it. Grieving a lost dream is quite hard, I must admit. 

Shackled

I was told to write an honest poem; honest? I’ve never understood why honesty was so difficult. I tend to pride myself on my ability to be honest and truthful. It’s almost second nature to me. My best friend used to always ask my opinion of what she was wearing because she knew I wouldn’t lie. “How’s my outfit?” “Hmm. I don’t like those jeans. They make your butt look saggy.” Harsh right? I guess I’d just rather tell the truth and it hurt, then tell a lie and cause that person to be mistakenly happy. As I stand here and ponder the meaning of honesty, my pride rock starts to crumble into the elephant graveyard full of skeletons I don’t even let myself explore. I’ve recently realized I struggle deeply with honesty when it’s just me and a mirror reflection I’m not proud of. I tend to make excuses or justifications, I skate around the core issue because sometimes it seems less painful. But if I was to be honest, I struggle with honesty the most when I have everything to lose. I’m talking the intangibles. My pespected identity, my heart, my life, a friend. I get so caught up in the what if’s that I forget about the what is. I let my fear of a potential loss get in the way of an opportunity to experience change, love, and ultimately life. It’s like quick sand, the more I think, the deeper I sink, into an inescapable pit of paralyzing doubts. I can’t quit my job, what if I don’t find another one soon enough? I can’t tell my manager what I think I deserve, what if she fires me? I can’t tell him how I feel, what if he doesn’t feel the same way? I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… quickly become I wish, I wish, I wish. I wish I would have been courageous enough to jump into the ocean of the unknown and undiscovered. It might have been dangerous, treacherous, and life threatening, and I’m sure I would have walked away with some pretty distressing bruises and permanent scars from being violently tossed around in the unyielding sea, but at least I would never have had to ask, “what if I had…” Experience is worth every scar because when you’re strong enough to turn that scar into a lesson, the tapestry your life is creating becomes all the more magnificent. So, as I stand here with my skeletons talking about a character trait I thought I embodied, the ghosts of my missed opportunities haunt me with this life-altering truth. Honesty is the key to the shackles clenched around my neck, holding me captive to a life full of fear. Until I can be honest, I am a slave to that mirror reflection I’m not proud of. The truth will always set me free.