I said no more…

I said no more…I simply can’t. I can’t keep holding my breath while saying this pain isn’t killing me.

So I told you not to write, and I wouldn’t write you.

Then I opened up Facebook to public. You could look.

You with your anxiety, and I knowing you would be lonely for a while,

and maybe sad and lonely for a time.

You could see how I was doing in the little lies I would tell,

so no one would worry about me.

And we did not communicate.

Then you sent me a forwarded email from a friend. What pearl of wisdom was I supposed to gain from this? (eye roll) I wrote you back.

Then we started texting that led to chatting that moved on to talking.

Marry our common friend you said. The two of you together will be great, you said.

Then, no!

let’s become Muslim or Mormon, and I’ll marry you instead. Give me cake and let me eat it too.

Have you lost your mind? You searched online. You looked at websites where couples were looking for second wives. I laughed because surely you were joking. Then I realized that for a moment–you weren’t joking. It felt scary, and weird.

It took a few hours and you called again to say I deserved better.

I KNOW I deserve better.

I know it the way birds know the way to migrate, but somehow I don’t believe it.

I want. I long. I pant. I breath. I inhale. You. From thousands of miles distant.

(whispers**the wind doesn’t even have to blow my way**)

I invited myself to where you are. You were so excited and writing such horny texts. I felt uncomfortable. I told myself to play. Then I couldn’t. It felt like a betrayal against my OWN better self.

Have you slept with someone I asked? Since I’ve been away. Since we broke apart.

And you had.

Of course.

I cried and cried and cried, not knowing what I was crying for. Now, I don’t know if I care.

You keep calling because we HAVE TO STAY friends. You’re not my dog; you’re not my problem.

But if I cut you carefully, fully, out of my life, who will you have? Your parents, some friends, and then???? **Open parenthesis “You’re not my dog; you’re not my problem”**Close parenthesis.

You say you could cut me out of your life, but I won’t say the word. Why do I have to say the word? Even you know you’ve hurt me enough.

Stupidly, I keep putting myself in the line of your fire. How that fire burns.

You video call while lying in your bed,

and you look so handsome,

so untouchably sexy,

so far away. I, in Saudi Arabia,

and you, in Kazakhstan.

I will be there soon. I will stay with friends,

and maybe squeeze in a few hours to see you.

I’m keeping my distance.

I won’t be another woman, any other woman, for you to have. You had her already, and she…didn’t…please…you.

You want to be free of me, but you want me to be…

in some form, by your side.

When will I be sick enough of this?

When will I divide and conquer my very soul, that sometimes feels like you are trying to crush.

Why?

What punishment, oh God, is this? Do You laugh at Your humans squirming upon the Earth? Or do You sadly shake Your head because You designed us for so much better? And we fail, even as the tide of time moves slowly to and fro, not stopping for any sound, nor the fluttering of any heart.

My heart.

I will grow old without you.

I know.

I always knew. You at 27 now, and I at 47 now.

You still have this ability to make me laugh.

For you, I want to be something so much better, a human as perfect as God designed,

you would truly love me then. A little fool’s dream, and a prisoner’s sentence to die.

What is possible and what is impossible can never be the same. It is perhaps possible I will love  you until the day that I die.

Equally true, is that, it is perhaps impossible you will ever love me enough…as I am.

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