But to sit down and write something, what of that? Now that I might share it it feels awful. I liked it before when I was alone. Now that you've joined me I feel self-conscious. You don't care about that and there are probably 130,203,111 blogs that have begun with this sense of awe at even the possibility that their musings might go public. Well, not only public, but read by someone. I doubt that anyone has made it past the first line of this, and once I can get behind that then writing until I feel like stopping is at least possible.
Letting go is the subject of my story. There is the Title, after all, which I've committed to by virtue of having put it in that little box. J just left. She took her big green eyes and went back to the other way of being. She was a little on the attack this evening. She arranged to come over, I acquiesced. I enjoyed that she wanted to come over and I began to imagine the evening might turn special. I don't mean sexual. I mean I was hoping that we might connect. But we did not connect. She ate a little bit and criticized people she knows and the fact that I keep my front door locked when I am home (because the door won't stay shut without it). "Why do you keep your door locked?" and I said, "Oh, I'll show you why." I pulled the door open. She rolled her eyes and said out of the side of her ass, "Why don't you get it fixed?" Real nasty. A real hottie bitch. And I only laughed and said, "I don't know."
She was gone then. I had erased her number from my phone some time ago. She had called and left messages that I did not return. She finally emailed me a longish email and said some things that got me interested in getting back in touch. She told me details from her life. That's all I wanted. To connect. She then suggested we see each other as she is passing through town. I agreed. Before she even arrived (she was 1.1/2 hours late because she'd taken the wrong freeway) she told me that she had to be at the next house of the next friend about an hour from having arrived at my place. I rolled with that, "Oh, that's fine. Totally cool." I sold that lie. It was not cool. And then she was gone and she's taken her youth, beauty, gifts, and hope out the door. And I feel sad and old and worthless. I guess all that points to love. I guess it does. But I had let her go and then I had let her back. Had I really let go if I'm feeling this way after she's gone? Yes. That part of me, that less-than, that sadness, that loneliness, that overwhelming feeling of being a loser, that was not activated until she walked through the door. I really never want to see her again. And I'm certain she felt the same way as she drove away.
When I walked back into my little apartment after having walked her to her car and suffered a tight, strong, anemic, overplayed hug, I imagined saying to her as she got into her car, "It's time to let go, J. It's time." She would have agreed. She was angry as she left and I was angry too. Hurt and a little sad, perhaps, that's more what was going on. Two people who once felt such love for each other, such respect, admiration, fondness, attraction, could feel so cold toward each other. That's where it was when C. and I split off the engagement. And I feel this with J. And we both know that it's over now and it's time to let go. I'm ready, as I have been. I guess this helps to let go. It will be letting go, over and over, for days now, and then I won't think of her at all. And she won't think of me. And after 8 or so years, she'll be a vague memory, a picture of a girl I once knew. And that's okay. Really. It's fine.
Bye
