Nic Narrates

Walking to the train station this morning, I wondered if the opposite of unhappiness is, well, happiness. I wondered because my outlook this morning, indeed my outlook every morning of late, has not been one of unhappiness per se, but neither has it been happy either. There have been moments though. Moments of actual, real joy.

Recently, amidst all my proclamations of not wanting to date anyone, of embracing my singledom once more, of not even wanting to engage in a casual fling if you can believe it (they’re never as satiating as your mid-twenties would lead you to believe and always bring complications); I’ve found myself feeling a certain and particularly surprising joy in someone’s company. Again.

I’ve been spending time with my ex-boyfriend. As friends. Friends who enjoy poking fun over brunch at people who deserve it. Friends who traipse through the art museum, remembering where this or that painting used to once hang. Friends who decry the state of seeing movies these days given the inescapably annoying audience. Friends who smile and are happy to see one another. Friends who hug upon parting and speak of “next time.” Friends who, somehow, do not want to let go, who want more.

I feel joy at having him in my life again. I feel happy for it. We met nearly three years ago and here now is the person I met all that time ago. I fell in love with that person. I still love that person. I still love him, as it turns out. Inconvenient. Inexplicable. Unresolved. In spite of it all. Somehow. Love.

If the relationships of my twenties taught me anything, it’s never to say never. I won’t start now. But, how does my heart reconcile the hurt that has been dealt? How does my heart overlook that all affection between us ceased long, long ago? How does my heart find a way to love when my memory points out that we weren’t able to even live together amicably?  How does my heart seemingly ignore the epic and unreconcilable sadness that befell us mere months ago? How does my heart disregard that, for all the love it apparently feels, it cannot trust emotional abandonment will not once again become its fate?

The answer isn’t one of longing or loneliness. In fact, I don’t know what the answer is. I’m quite content to be alone, to sleep alone, to live alone (with Wendy), and go about my days as my own. In so many ways I prefer it. I enjoy the independence and freedom and won’t give it away simply because “love” finds me. But damn it if he didn’t encourage my independent streak, didn’t understand it about me, didn’t let me just be. He knew me. Perhaps better than anyone.

The girl he pushed away. Cut out of his life even as she came home to him every night and sat opposite him in silence. Stayed faithful always. The girl who now finds joy in his company once more. Who loves him still. Who walks to the train station with his name on her lips, wondering what that means, wondering what to do with it, if anything.

Filed under: a thing of beauty, crossroads, jaded, singletons by Nic