The Tenth Letter of Madness

I miss him on days like this when I wake up and get reality shoved down my throat. It was with him that we could sit and read for hours without talking. The comfort of his presence proved enough without spoken words. We learned a lot in that year we shared. After his death I had to come face to face with the reality of love. I had to forgive myself for leaving. I haven’t mastered that yet but in the back of my mind I know it is there. Waiting for me. Perhaps it is something I keep for a bad day. So I have something to fall back on.

He was not perfect by any means. I first met him in his restaurant. I was writing when he came to strike up a conversation. My eccentric ways and dress gave rise to his curiosity. My listening ear gave him hours to talk without feeling as if he was burdening me. I enjoyed listening to his voice. His face was pretty and his smile was breathtaking.

We learned together the ways of the world. We defined our days with coffee and conspiracy talk. Together we understood each other. Hours spent watching documentaries and pauses spent along the way for open discussion. There was no toxicity. There was no head trips. We did not get off on hurting the other. We did not put each other down and play insecurities against the other. We loved freely and without motive. We had passion and we had love.

We read books and highlighted the good parts. We talked of the truths that we found and laughed about the mistakes we made. I sent him flowers and wrote the card in Italian. I bought him a gold watch and broke my pocketbook. We lifted a cow despite the odds and we mourned its death. He taught me to ride a lawnmower and we rode together side by side. We took turns staying with his mother in hospice care. We lifted each other up when the world came crashing down.

And yet I left him in his sadness. I left him in his pain. I abandoned the man who was too sad to be in love because I needed it too much. He let me go so easily and without a fight. He still smiled when I came to visit. He still felt right when I came to visit. He still made me laugh at his silly kid jokes. He still radiated love throughout his being. He was where I went when I was feeling down. He was my strength for when I was weak.

He played the same songs on the jukebox. He knew the ones I hated and played them the most. I learned to love them in his absence. We danced like idiots and we sang like children. We loved a pure love. When he kissed me I melted. When he slept I would watch him for hours tracing the outline of his face with my fingertips. He hated waking up to the tickling of his skin. I couldn’t help myself.

When he died, my heart died. When he died, love died. When he died I was face to face with the bitter reality that I gave up on the best love I had even known. I shouldn’t have given up. How was I to know that years later he would save me with his suicide? How was I to know that he needed me to not give up on him? How was I to know that this was not the way it was supposed to be? How was I to know that he was the catalyst of life for me? And when he died, I knew that so did my desire to ever love another person again. He did something I could never accomplish. He accomplished at all in which I had failed.Two weeks before his death I had seen him. Frail and sad. I didn’t say a word. I reasoned it away as it wasn’t my place. I didn’t know that I should have just told him one last time that it was nice to see him. That after him I was stuck with an asshole and yet I always wanted to come back to him. That he was supposed to be alive for when that day happened. That it wasn’t because he wasn’t good enough that I left. That it wasn’t because he wasn’t my prince charming anymore, because he was. That I wanted it all back. The Golden Girls marathons with his mother, the feeding the pigs in the barn, the hours of silence as we read, the forced tanning sessions in the outdoors, the crazy talks about the jets, that stupid David Bowie song, “Hereos” on repeat, that stupid fake handshake that never got old.

If loving him taught me anything in his loss it was that love doesn’t expire with death. He never knew I never gave up on him. I go to the restaurant weekly if not more. I sit in the same spot if it’s available. By the wall next to the mural I made in his memory. There upon the wall is a man who influenced many and yet left no children or wife. His legacy will never be remembered by children generations past. Although my child will remember him. My legacy will continue him memory. My musings will be known to my grandchildren. Our story will not die with him. I loved him. I loved him and I left him. I am forever cursed for my choice. As if love didn’t reject me enough.  It is not my intention to ever make love again. It is not my intention to betray my broken heart by ever being filled again.

My last relationship died with him. It was a terrible toxic relationship. A jealous insecure angry man who took pleasure in my pain. Looking back it was punishment for denying real love. Looking back it was my time in hell for my sins in life. Four years spent with a man who controlled me best he could in my free spirited ways. He taught me what love isn’t. Love isn’t anything that we had. Love isn’t anything that I would ever want like we had. Love shouldn’t even be used to describe what we didn’t have. I was left bruised and demeaned after my lovers death as his way to show me how he saw himself as God. How dare I deny him control of what I did or what I felt? How dare I grieve a dead man that I loved? For he knew, it was undeniable, that we had something he would never know, never feel, never be. It was what drove him jealous, it was what made him insecure, it is what he loathed. Real love. Real emotion. Compassion and empathy his enemy. He couldn’t just be normal. He couldn’t even be human.

Four years I gave him and I wanted to believe in his lies of love. I let him lead me down a path further from my goals. I let him destroy me with his mindsets. I let him leak his hate into me. I let him kill off the good parts of myself. I let him convince myself that I was inconsiderate and selfish. I let him convince me that without his love I was nothing. I let him ruin my mind and rot my heart. One year later without him, I am still struggling. I am still adjusting. I am still reminiscing. But I am not missing him. I am not making excuses for his dysfunction. I am not regretting anything in his final days as my “boyfriend”. No. It was perfectly played. He is a demon spawn and I miss him not. He was never good enough for my love and even God knew that. The town is small and he exists within it but our paths do not cross. I dread the day I might look at his ugly face. Where I might even pass a smile in my victory from his discomfort of sight. Where I hope his heart attacks him and he falls dead on the spot. Where I will not care if he is dead or not. Where he never should have born into such a beautiful world for he offers no beauty to it. Where his ugly filthy soul has no place to go but the darkest deepest place of hell and well deserved. Where I must face the fact I loved a demon instead of an angel. Where I will never feel right about that choice despite the knowledge it gave me. Where I will never give up on a sad man again. Where I will never love a filthy soul again.

Someday I might perchance find a way to heal this thought burden. As if I might stop passively blaming myself. As if I might start living a better life. A life without the darkness still left from the disdained. One day, I might find love again, but even if that day emerged, I would not want it. I am too broken. I don’t think I will ever be right in the love department. I don’t think it is possible. Frankly, I don’t even want it.

For the times have been tough since his passing and since the other’s power play. That the two events are mashed up in my membrane for remembrance as a pair. As if another could be so cruel as to tie my fate with his and without mercy. I speak freely when I say without regret that I hope he dies a dreadful death. That may he die alone and unremembered. He also has no wife and no children. God I thank for not giving him spawns to pass parts of his dirty soul upon. He will have no legacy but the one I leave him to my children’s children.

Two men. Two men who crossed my life in the same time. Two men whom I loved and lost.  And one to whom I hated. One to whom I despise. There will be no tears for the laters death. I do not even care to know. Even if the lessons were beneficial to the growth of my soul I do not care to speak any goodwill towards him. He was a monster. A monster once I loved that I love no more. He deserves nothing but what he gave to others-pain and misery. I would feel sorry for him but I did that for four years with love. I pitied him and so I loved him. I love him no more because he always was an asshole.

And for to this I grieve, I grieve no more. Today, I unburdened my soul. Today, I heal as a new dawn has awoken me. The nightmares have ceased and I am no longer harassed. I am free from the torment of the devil. I am free to love once more. But I am afraid, my love is gone. But I will wait for him until my last dying breath. Because I know when I cease to exist I will have returned to him. And I intend to live each day to the fullest in his memory. To experience all the wonderful things that he would have encouraged me to experience without him by myside. I will pay homage to our love as if it never died with him. It’s the least I can do as I carry out the next forty years without my heart.

With all my love,


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