Posts Tagged ‘breaking up’

I See Your Face

January 10, 2021

And the world stops, you said to me with awe in your voice.

You looked into my eyes and all the love and all the tears and all the challenges of the years fell away and I, well.

I wish I could just stay there with you, in that moment, in the doorway between the kitchen and my living room.

On the precipice of my soul.

You also said.

“We have to stop breaking up with each other.”


Did you say, “we need to stop breaking up.”


Was it, “I hate breaking up with you.”

I cannot remember.

They’re all true.

It’s awful and it’s right and it’s hard and we’ve done it a lot.

Too many times.

I don’t think I can do it again.

And you promised.

You did.

You promised you would come for me.

Like something out of a fairy tale.

And maybe then I can forget breaking up with you in my studio in the Outer Sunset.

Breaking up with you in my studio in the Outer Richmond.

You breaking up with me over brunch at the Beekman Hotel in New York.

Saying goodbye to you in D.C. crying at the gate, sobbing, falling into your arms and then walking away, like some movie scene that only we were watching.

Then damn it, doing it all over again, when you broke up with me in George Town the second time we went to D.C.

We keep smashing back together and breaking our hearts.

And somehow.


We both keep going on.

You on one side of town.

Me on the other.

Years have gone by.

Gray sprinkled now through my crown.

Laugh wrinkles grooved around your eyes.

And I still think you are the one.

Even if you are the one that has left me again, this afternoon, crying in my house.



And with absolute knowing that it was the thing that needed to be done.

You hate seeing me sad.

And I got sad.

It happened.

I tried to tuck it away, in the closet, on a high shelf behind the duvet cover from Ikea and the white sheets with rosebud edges.

The tears, they leaked out.

I know you were crying too.

Not in front of me, not this time.

But, the moment you hit the street.

Walking back with a mask over your face, wet eyes to the sky, back to where ever you were parked.

Sitting in your car, putting the chocolate chip peanut butter cookies I made for you in your glove box.

(No one has ever baked for me, you said)

The smell that will haunt you for days to come.

I won’t reach out.

I learned my lesson.

My heart is broken and I’ll leave it there for awhile.

Long enough for me to throw myself back into my Phd program.

Long enough for me to bury myself in this last push of work.

Long enough to go back to this place, this place where I write and tell my story one moment at a time, without you.

Let The Un-Friending Begin

January 21, 2015

I jest.

Sort of.

I had to de-friend my ex today.

When we parted ways on Friday I asked him if we should un friend on Facebook.

He said no, but he would unfollow me and I said I would do the same.

He requested 90 days no contact.

I agreed.

Four days in I get a shared post from him on Face Book.




Not allowed.

90 days.

Not 4 days.

I believe, that’s really the only fair way to be, I haven’t contacted him in regards to it and it was innocuous, but it brought a pang to see his name on my phone alerts.

I spent the morning doing some extra writing and when the time was right I made some phone calls.


Un friend the man.

Not because we can’t be friends, I suspect that given time, yes, we will.

But that it is just too soon to see anything related to him.

Why hurt?

I have been withholding from scrolling through his Face Book feed and looking at the updates, but until I un friended him there was the temptation to do just that.

I deleted our message history, I took down the photographs, I went back to single, and I practiced restraint of pen and tongue.

I have written nothing in my blog to say it was this person and he did these things, said this, or acted in this way.

I don’t want to be that person.

I have integrity and I believe he deserves privacy just as much as I do.

To that affect I also un-friended two of his close friends who friended me when we first began dating.

There is nothing to our relationship except that I was dating their friend, outside of that, not really a connection and as such I purged them too.

It felt uncomfortable to do it.

Although I knew, oh, I did, that it was the correct thing to do.

It was the thing that was going to spare me a lot of unnecessary pain.

There are no victims.

Only volunteers.

I choose today to not cause myself more grief by social media stalking.

No thank you.

I have better things to do with my time.

In fact, I have a lot of things to do with my time.

I ran the list of things down to a friend I bumped into in the Mission while I was working with the boys.

She said, maybe you got enough on your plate.



There is that.

I do have a tendency to run away from my feelings by keeping myself busy.

Then tonight at dinner, Udupi Palace, in the Mission, I rattled off what I am up to this week and my companion said the same thing, basically, slow down, be sweet to yourself when you are in pain, or sad, let the feelings come.

I have to say I am more surprised to have had the depth of emotion over the relationship.

It was short.

But it was intense and a lot of stuff came up.


I didn’t blog about much of it, as it did not seem fair to process my emotions around the relationship on my blog while in the relationship.

I relegated that writing to my journaling and morning pages.

“Have you been writing a lot of long hand?” A friend intuitively asked.


I had let down the blog a little bit, not posted as often, posted trivial’ish posts, but man, I was writing.

“It shows, your blogs are really good,” he replied when I told him I was still putting pen to paper and doing more so with that since I was not blogging as much.

And let me be fair to myself, I was still blogging.

Just not every day.

The first couple of weeks we were together my writing was sporadic and I brought that slowly back in line.

My ex also asked about that a number of times “did you blog today?”

I am a better person when I write, I suspect that it helps me process something in a manner that is spiritual in nature, a kind of cleanse, an end of day summarazation, on retiring I review my day, I look over what I did, what I could have done better, how I felt.



Perpetually human.

Suspended and open.




I miss him.

There I said it.

But I am grateful that it is done.

It was done a few weeks ago and just the process of walking through the ending with proper closure.

I am ready, though, to not miss him.

To get on with my life.

I know that means that I have to allow the feelings to happen, anger, disappointment, sadness, a bit of grief, a bit of regret, a soupcon of maudlin misery.

It’s not too bad.

It’s just a feeling.

It will pass.

The good news?

You’re going to have feelings.

The bad news?

You’re going to have feelings.

I am a pink glittery heart of crystal, all refracted and shiny and sparkling.

My inner emotional weather is not flat grey.

The two shades are pretty together, sometimes a compliment, but ultimately I have to find someone who wants all my glitter pink tattooed froth.

There is a deadly seriousness under this all.

But at my heart, in my heart, my emotional interior.

It is pink.

Satin pink.

Shimmering pink.

A rainbow of happy warm light.

Sometimes it is white light, but mostly it is soft and rosy and serene.

I am finding my way back to that.

The pink is shining through the grey clouds and as the stars wink on the horizon above the indigo sea, I know, I know emphatically, with all my romantic self that there is abundance, so much abundance for me.

I left my heart un protected.

I once thought that was a stupid thing to do.

Now I know that my heart is a big girl with big girl pants (pinstriped in silver glitter, not everything needs to be pink) and that she can take it.

Because I am not heartbroken.

Yes my heart has been broke open.

But it is not broken.

It is just bigger.

More capable of holding whatever comes for me next.

I suspect it will be more, and more and more.

(And it breaks my heart).


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