I submit to you this broken heart.
I am awfully terrible at telling personal stories, and since this story has intertwined a few other hearts of people I love, I am not going to go into details. It is a story of how I lost “faith.”
Also the story includes some people I freely admit I hate. And I hate even thinking about them so I am not going to go there.
I don’t think I could backtrack over that ugly place anyway, in a way that makes sense to anyone. Except to say that I learned the hard way that trust and betrayal are a hair’s breadth apart. And they are hopelessly entangled with my own fears, and also my perception of the world anyway.
I know, my heart has driven me down irrational backroads, with so many jarring and messy potholes, when it comes to “faith” I don’t know where I am anymore.
And none of this means anything to any of you. It’s personal. I don’t even know why I bother to write about it, except I can’t believe that, one year later, I am still so sad to have gotten lost.
I had an old boyfriend once upon a time. I remember it took a long time, too, for me to realize he was no good for me. He was a soul-eater, a life-sucker, a love-hog. It took years, even after I left him, for the sheen to wear off. But when it did, it was OVER. Now I look back on that time and have no sensory recall of the love. I have memories, but the feelings are gone.
This is not the case with most others I have loved and left behind. It’s true. I am notorious for revisiting my memories of love, polishing them off and enjoying their reflective sunshine. Old lovers have claimed folding chairs in the backyard of my memory. They are now most excellent old friends, and I revel those sunny gardens.
I think, if someone tries, really tries, to love you, then the love carries on. Forgiveness happens. Even if all they ever did with you was make mistakes or bumble around or turn corners when you weren’t looking.
I also think, sometimes we think people care about us, and they just plain don’t. We believe we are following after them, but all we are doing is chasing a shadow.
I’ve given a lot of that love, and I know I have been the shadow in my time, too.
My hazard wouldn’t be yours, not ever;
But every doom, like a hazelnut, comes down
To its own worm. So I am rocking here
Like any granny with her apron over her head
Saying, lordy me. It’s my trouble.
There’s nothing to be learned this way.
If I heard a girl crying help
I would go to save her;
But you hardly ever hear those words.
You must try to say
Something when you are in need.
Don’t confuse hunger with greed;
And don’t wait until you are dead.
— by Ruth Stone