i love a memory
by Christopher Jones
Just tonight, as I was driving home, I realized that what I love is a memory of her. It should have been obvious. I mean, how could it be different? I love who she was. If I drove over to her house tomorrow, I would treat her with the love deserved by who she used to be. I knew her then and that is all I still know. I do not know her now. I can no longer tell you her hopes and dreams. I can no longer tell her why she does the things she does. I am no longer inside her head. I understand the woman I used to know all that time ago, but I know precious little of her today.
I love a memory. And with that knowing I can let the love be a memory as well.
*update* After speaking to someone about this post this morning, I thought I should clarify. This post is not about anyone that I suspect any of you know or have ever met. I’m not fickle, so any thoughts you have heard from me recently are all still completely valid. If you thought this post was about someone still active in my life, you are mistaken.
Just wanted to put that out there.
the memory becomes a fantasy.
a fragile fantasy.
and when the real world enters, what she is today, who she’s become, the fantasy is shattered.
realizing the memory is imperative.
but, you are brilliant. i expect nothing less.
Well stated.
In this case, mine was a memory I would not have admitted I had if asked. If you had asked if I loved her, I would have said, “Of course not, how could I? It has been too long.” But in the darkness, there was that glimmer of what might have been… if the stars had aligned and time reverted to days long gone. if a different path had been chosen, one that didn’t take me to live in 3 states in as many years. It is that vague, unblemished fantasy of who we could have been… had we somehow been made perfection.
I unknowingly allowed this, along with what I consider my greatest failure (which I will not be blogging about), to restrict my thought process. Somethings I would not allow, would not consider, for some unrational fear that things wouldn’t messure up. The memory preventing her from meauring up. The failure preventing me.
But I believe I see things more clearly now. I still have no idea what is going on. I only know myself, my past, and who I am striving to be. I am expecting a fair amount of pain, a fair amount of relief, and a healthy dash of closure to be upcoming.
I am working on being more honest with people about who I am. So many people who don’t know a damn thing think they know. Those I don’t care about. But a few… a few know me best and still don’t know. They are the ones.
We all have a story. It is high time some people knew mine, from the eyes of the only person who has ever lived it.
“It is that vague, unblemished fantasy of who we could have been… had we somehow been made perfection.”
precisely…
-sigh-
i am looking forward to learning your story.