diabola in musica

For the past month, I’ve been suffering the emotional aftermath from the breakup. Publicly, I was very polite and pleasant, but privately, I was a complete mess. For the first time, I lost myself completely in love. For the first time, I had my heart completely crushed. If it weren’t for a few very close friends who knew exactly what to say and do, I would be, simply, devastated.

I feel a deep sadness, pain from those years of neglect and failed efforts at making the relationship work, but with that lurks a roaring anger, born from the same hurt. Whatever happened, whatever the motives behind our actions, I was not happy being with him. As much as I tried to make him understand what could or should be done for me, he simply could (or would) not do it. I’m angry because these were simple things—flirting, a gentle loving caress, interest in my interests—things that I readily gave him before I realized that he stopped giving them back to me.

I deserved more than what I got from the relationship. For a long time, I hesitated to say that, because I was treated to great cuisines, family excursions to beaches, and other expensive indulgences. What more could I want? Though I valued his generosity, I still missed the smaller gestures, the ones that risked not the pocketbook but the heart. Dinners and movies can be bonding experiences, but without romance, they were more friendly than amorous. I looked for gestures of love. I asked for them. I needed them. But they were never consistent, and eventually, they stopped.

I deserved to be happy. Whoever he was couldn’t make me happy, and he was not interested in becoming someone who could. Maybe it was an unreasonable expectation, but I was in love and I was foolish and I hoped.

But now I’m free. I’m free to call old flames for casual mind-blowing sex. I’m free to flirt and tease to my heart’s content. I’m free to spend my nights laughing with my friends. I’m free to spend time alone in peace. I’m free to move out of New England. I’m free to move out of the country. I’m free to experience new people, new places, new things.

I’m free to love someone who loves me back, someone who is willing to put down life and limb for me, someone who deserves my attention, dedication, and love.

But not yet. It’s too early. The wound is too fresh, and the pain is too raw. I’m free, but I’m also free to demand the relationship I want on my own terms. That will not come easily, but that is definitely something worth waiting for.