Last night I had the sads over what happened with the Frenchman almost a year ago, so I’m writing this to help heal my heart.
My dream last night also helped to heal it, but more on that later.
For those who know the story - with all of its beautiful magic that filled my days, weeks and a few short months, followed by its tragic ending - you know how much this relationship meant to me and all the sweetness and joy it brought me, especially during my transition from Ontario to Quebec.
The Frenchman made everything lovely and incredibly easy for me in my new city. That part is a gift I still treasure.
But there is still much sadness and disappointment over what happened, and over losing all the parts that I loved about him and us when that awful night occurred.
And being that one of my cyber goals for 2018 is to check the “on this day” feature for a creative project I’m compiling, every single day of this month is filled with posts of him and all the words and gestures that moved me. And there were a lot. And there will be plenty more leading up to Valentine’s Day when that luscious experience shattered into a million little pieces.
Reading those posts from a year ago is bittersweet. I can feel exactly how I felt when I shared them, because they really were so tender and beautiful even though they were merely spatterings of much deeper and longer dialogues that filled me up to overflowing on a daily basis.
He felt the way a good meal tastes, as I shared so long ago.
And when he’d read to me each night in his language which is now slowly becoming my own, my heart and soul felt so safe and soothed and cared for.
It was a deep and gentle and intimate thing that he and I shared...
Until it wasn’t.
We’ve crossed paths just once since then, at an outdoor event back in October, but neither of us said a word as we walked by one another. Yain did turn around to see that the Frenchman had turned around as well, but I chose not to look back. I always prefer to move forward.
What could have possibly been said anyhow? Words failed me then and they still do now.
Yet there have been many times over the year, and even more frequently this past week, where I have wanted to reach out to him because I want to know... I don’t even know what it is I want to know.
I just want healing and understanding and for my heart not to hurt whenever I think of him.
But I don’t reach out because I don’t want to open that door. Because I don’t want to know. Because it doesn’t matter why or how or what was going through his head...
But my heart still longs for that knowing.
She still bleeds with questions and sadness.
So last night I wrote him a text. All in French. Just a few short lines on behalf of my soul.
I did not send it but I needed to express it.
And then I fell asleep with a heavy heart and dreamed of him. And in the dream he had texted back.
It was beautiful and poetic and explained many things... except one thing. The most important thing.
Still, I woke up relieved that we had spoken, if only by text in a dream.
(Image from Pinterest: Artist Unknown)
P.P.S. If an erotic, poetic, insightful and vulnerable real-life fairytale is your kinda thing, I invite you to explore my soul's offering, The Poet & The Butterfly Collection.