I Used To Dream, Falsely

  
As a boy I was very alone. Depressed. Neglected. I would pray for the person who would one day love me. This began at age ten. I always sought affection. At thirteen years of age I learned girls loved love letters. So I wrote them. Often, and became very good at it. At this age the act of writing the letter and it being willing received was emotional satisfaction.

  As I matured a response was desired. A return of investment. One small affermation which indicated my feelings we not singular. Often the act of writing proceeded the actual emotion for. It was a hunt. A search for the one thing I desired most. Someone who cared, about, me. An end to my solitude. 

  At sixteen I began a relationship with someone who I did not know. I originally approached her because I wanted my friends to stop talking about who was going to date her, being she was the new girl in school. Our relationship began. No letters this time. I am not sure why other then we talked. Openly, freely, for hours. 

  She was light. I hate I used that description yet it is the most accurate. She smiled and the world was better. She was gloriously energetic, outspoken, nothing less than amazing. So I loved her. Not paper love. Not words twisted to page love. My soul leaps when she is near love. So much so I dared not acknowledge it. Until, one day, as I turned to walk away from her. She grabbed my elbow, tilted her head and said “I love you”. It was not a sily teenage babble. She said “I love you”. As in, you understand this is more. “I love you.” She did. We loved deeply. Until something happened. The love did not stop, just the relationship.

  Years past and I never entered another relationship. Then my wife came along. We met. A few days later she asked me out on a dare. I showed up and she had forgotten. We continued to date. A few months into our relationship my father died. The one person I felt cared about me. A year later I was married. In reflection for me it was out of fear. My wife just saw a boy graduating from Army Officer Candidates School. Basically, not a farmer. It took two years until she first tried to walk out. My fear of being alone made me stop her. I never felt love after that point. Things were basically, not being alone.

  A few years ago I made contact with my first love. She has a loving husband. Beautiful kids and a good life. All things I was happy to know. However, for years I had held on to her as the only person who ever loved me. Unreasonably I felt lied to. She does not love me now so how could she have then. I worked through this to the understanding what we had then was real. At that point she did love me. I had been truly loved.

Sadly, I find myself alone once again. For years my wife rejected me but I hung in for fear of being alone and for my two incredible daughters. My daughters recently moved in with my wife for the summer preceeding me moving back in. They returned to my house to help my prepare my house for the market. While here they disclosed they felt emotionally abused as well. Both (older teens) asked me to keep my house so they could live with me. Sadly when their mother arrived for the weekend things went very poorly. I have not had contact with my wife since. Nor do I expect to. 

 In the end the most important thing is have I been loved. Yes. I know the joy of being loved. My ropes are pulled and sails are set. Traveler is exploring the seas of life again. Maybe I will be loved again maybe not. Regardless, the first time was real and its memory safety treasured away.

  

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Love Should Be

I go to where love should be

Only to find its place empty

I go to where love should be

Yet it does not find me

I go to where love should be

A hollowness there I do see

I go to where love should be

No arms are there to greet me

I go to where love should be

Sorrow stands and laughs at me

I go to where love should be

Misery waits to engulf me

I go to where love should be

There I stand alone

The Me I Am Today

  This is the face of The Traveler. To say it is who I am may be misleading. Defining myself in a singular would be rather difficult. “Me” changes regularly. Each experience, new friend, sunrise and sunset makes me slightly different. Fortunately all the me’s remain readily accessible. Therefore reaching back to find a particular emotion or memory from which to choose and transfer to written word can be done without having to actually be in that current state. However there are times I choose to live in painfully memories for awhile. Maybe this is a form of selfharm minus a cut or burn? Regardless when done and the pain had past the absence of it is blissful. Currently I dwell in the memory of her because it is the most glorious memory. When she was near life floated in an unreal fantasy of amazement. She was everthing then she was gone. Yes later she was in my life again. We had day long conversations. Laughed then cried and asked why. Then she was gone again. There are times when I steal momentary glances into her life. Normally to remind myself how much better her life is now than it would have been with me. Quietly I walk away. Ours paths will cross again one day. Maybe then we can have day long conversations which continue the next day. This being shared because it is who I am. Tomorrow I will continue traveling. Reaching back to find something else. I hope you will come along and in some way I hope as my pain heals yours will too.

Hollow Eyes

It is with hollow eyes I stare into the world now. Once everywhere I looked my eyes sought love. An eye that did not look away from my glance. Is that a smile forming upon the corner of her mouth? Gently she moved her hair behind her ear. Eye contact again. I think that is a good thing? My eyes once saw all these things. Yet my shattered heart has made them hollow. Now I see nothing. Blank faces in a blank world while I live a blank existance. How I wish someone would restore my sight.