the end of the affair

One major reason I'm angry is the discovery of the naiveté of my feelings. The dire lack in my experience. I've been told friendships end. I've been told they become something else. Something materialistic and parasitic. 

I'm also angry because fate wasn't kind on this one. Yes things happened over some months, but they did all happen in one year. And that's hard to bear.

Y gone to northern lands. A cheating. M cheating too, with much deeper consequences. Sh and the realization of impossibility of reconciling our friendship and her relationship.

I've been working out forgiveness. Trying to let go of the anger and resentment. Trying to be less bound by justice and more by understanding. Oh I've had some crucifying days.

What's crucifying about all this? Why is it so hard? I guess it's easier to accept people sail ship and lay their anchors elsewhere. It's all very congruent with the temporary alliances theory of friendship. Not so easy to accept witnessing your friendship fall apart in front of you. Your feelings change and your memories are re-written in light of all recent darkness.

A sudden void is staring at you. Endless moments of bitterness and pain. A fear you'll never trust again. You'll never try to love again. You'll be alone as you grow old. There's no one to rely on. I can do the relying on myself part but who would listen to my complicated stories?

The most impending feeling I get upon those thoughts is leaving the country. Why would I stay here anymore? A major reason; the people, the loved ones, ceased to exist.

Failing terribly failed by others shatters your world. but that comes in many colors and shades. Either because you never mattered. Or because you were never understood. Or you were important but not that important. Or that your intentions were misunderstood. Or that you weren't cool enough as a friend, or not fit enough. Your interests didn't matter.

But then there's also the part where you, yourself, were full of shit. You probably weren't open and accepting enough. I wasn't supportive enough.  I was a bit too controlling or a bit of a control freak.

And to avoid unabashed self-criticism, I've been brave. I give myself that. I was honest, most of the time. I did care, for complex reasons yes, but I did fucking care.

New beginnings to come. Something to be happy about. Sounds too theoretical for me right now. All I can feel is that heaviness lying over my heart.

All I wanted is to be understood. I guess that was too much to ask for.