Fiction: Struggling for Paradise
You wake up in the middle of the night because he isn’t holding you, and you look at his side of the bed. He isn’t there.
You shower in the morning and you don’t hear him brushing his teeth. He always brushes his teeth when you’re in the shower.
You wait for him to meet you in the kitchen for a kiss goodbye, but he doesn’t.
You’re at work and start to text him but you realize you can’t. You see his name in your phone book, but this ritual is a ritual no more.
You’re at the grocery store picking up dinner, but you’ll need only half. You’re driving home and want to call him to tell him you’re on your way, but you can’t. You’re watching TV with no one beside you. You’re reading in bed, expecting him beside you on his laptop, but no.
Every moment and all of life’s moving pieces remind you of him. And there’s nothing you can do about it. He isn’t there.
He’s broken your heart, and maybe you’ve broken his, but “us” and “we” are now called “him” and “me.” There will be no more kisses, no more cuddles, no more love-making, no more dream-staking. He’ll never again bring home a bouquet of flowers or tell you that you’re beautiful.
And the tears are endless. Your pillow’s soaked, your dreams dampened, your heart drowned…
There are so many things that make life remarkable, and the foremost of these is its ability to mesh two carbon-based beings, humans, two bodies made of different DNA, different personalities, different minds, different hopes, different dreams, into one.
It’s not so rare that we love, but it’s incredibly rare that we fall in love. And the latter of these causes heaven and hell all at once.
When we break up with someone with whom we are in love, we imagine nothing that could rival the pain. We pray that we’re taken away from the world in our sleep. Death is the preference.
But life has dealt us the extraordinary ability to love, and from this ability something horrible was born: the propensity to long after something (or someone). If love didn’t exist, longing would vanish, and heartbreak would be a thing of fiction.
Life knows that we are dramatic creatures. It knows that simplicity never will suffice. And so upon us it gives Volatility, whose offspring is Appreciation, for without love, without longing, without heartbreak, we miss Bliss.
Love is a painful business. Being in love is an excruciating business. In the end, we can hope it’ll all be worth our while, as we continue struggling for paradise.
Justin Jones is a columnist for Lavender Magazine, Guy Magazine, and Florida Agenda Newspaper. He writes about things like being alive, being in love, and drinking too much. Facebook.com/JustinJonesWriter.
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