Sadly, the loss of love has also inspired me.
I have always wanted to be a writer and it wasn’t until I lost my first love that I knew the full beginning, middle and end to a story. Falling in Love for the first time was both amazing and very painful for me. The relationship lasted a very short time but what hurt the most wasn’t just the loss of that love but the forever dragging out of The End. It took a very long time to finally get the truth and reason as to why it ended and through my pain I have been inspired.
I haven’t written much of the story but I have it tucked away in my head. I thought that it would be too painful to write while I was in the thick of it but I learned that it couldn’t be written until it was completely over for me, until the ghost of him was exorcised from my mind. That happened on July 1, 2011.
Here is an excerpt from Except for Me. (Working title)
July 1, 2011 Canada Day. Day before the New Moon.
There I sat in my Mom’s garden. It looked nothing as it did when she was alive. Nonetheless, it was still beautiful. The sky was blue, the clouds resembled sweet puffs of cotton candy and my Dad had recently cut the lawn. The breeze was soft and the winds fingers tickled the leaves of the fruit trees with the lichen covered limbs.
The cauldron sat in front of me on the grass filled with the papers of my past. His love, his promises and his lies, all waiting for the fires tongue to lick and burn them to ash. I too, waited for them to turn to ash. To turn into things of the past, to finally let go of the ghost of his love, the pain of his lies.
As they burned and smoked I felt cleansed. I felt my Mom’s spirit there in her garden and I felt a neat, clean, perfect piece of my heart open up to make room for you.
As the papers turned to ash I felt him tugging at me still. There was a tiny piece of him that held on like the chubby little fingers of a new born holds onto his mother’s finger. Although his hold was not innocent, I still felt the tug and wondered if I had done the right thing. Then I felt the cool breeze on my face, the whispers of the old ones and I knew that I had. If I wanted to free myself of the hold he had, I had one more task to complete.
Sax Point.
The hard, sharp rocks cut into me as I sat on the cliffs edge watching the water rush and retreat, rush and retreat. The swooshing, sucking sound it made as it hit the rocks lulled me for a time. I watched the kelp sway to a fro and listened as a fallen tree thudded hollow against the rocks in time with my beating heart. The ring held tight in my hand.
In the birds songs I heard his voice pleading for me not to leave him. As the wind rustled the long grass I heard the earth’s voice urging me on. To let go fully is not an easy thing to do, but I closed my eyes and concentrated on the pleading in his voice. There, just there, yes I can hear it. The pleading was gone and the sounds of his voice began to sound like the cries and whimpers of a spoiled child that was told no.
That is not love. Wanting to be a part of my life in some tiny way but never fully being there is not love. It is a selfish act designed to keep me in a dark place where no one else can find me. He wanted me in that dark place as he stood in the sun, always knowing I was there but never inviting me to stand next to him, face tilted to the warmth.
With eyes fixed on a point between the rocky shore and a stand of kelp, I reached my arm back as far as I could and threw the ring into the ocean. I did not watch it slip down into the depths however, I was too busy tilting my head towards the sun and relishing the warmth on my face.
There is still a tiny piece of my heart that will always and forever belong to him, but now on another day, as I sit next to the ocean near the same place that I found my light, you have filled my heart with perfect love, and for that I am grateful.
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