The Morning After a Love Affair Ends

The Morning After a Love Affair Ends[1]

One awakens softly, seeking a last minute’s solace in sleep, as when about to experience the onset of a horrid hangover, but the pain’s not in your head, its deep in the innermost recesses of your heart, places until now you weren’t even aware you had; and the bad taste in your mouth, well, it’s in your soul but it feels all-pervading.

You ask yourself some of the same old questions and make yourself some of the same old promises: “Jeez, never again” …, but all too quickly you realize you need it right now, like a heroin addict without his crank for too long even though too long was just last night but last night is so long ago now, now that a barrier reef has split your life in twain.

You’re mind, fuzzy at best, tries to understand what happened, how it happened, why it happened, and then, after a bit, just when it happened, and how was it that you didn’t realize it was happening.  You realize that you don’t know how you feel about it; the only thing you know is that you hurt, a throbbing, incessant pain somewhere even an opiate won’t touch, … or will it you think?

The residue of love wrestles with despair, then the echo of coming resentment tickles your soul, but not a comforting tickle, just the trace of a promise of relief, if you’ll only succumb.  You visualize her and realize that it’s not her body you miss so much but her presence, a body of intangibles you took for granted, and then you wonder how she’s feeling.

You know you can patch things up but deep in your heart you realize that a patch is not enough, that somehow, when no one was looking, love just fled, and that all you taste is its bitter residue.  That somehow, what you felt became an addiction and what you’re suffering are the symptoms of its withdrawal.  And that like crack or crank or speed or all the myriad feel-good-for-a-second addictive crutches, if you go back you may never find what it is that you really need.  Neither of you will.  If only you had a clue what that was.

The pain overwhelms who you are and everything you do, everything you hear, everything you see. It attains an attribute of divinity, omnipresence, but what ever happened to omnibenevolence?  You hope that eternity is not within its grasp and wonder about omniscience.  What ever happened to God, or the Divine, or Life, the things we count on for happy endings?  How did Love turn into this overwhelming all-encompassing unbearable pain?

You turn and face the wall, and moisture invades your eyes.  You close them, sighing; you take a breath which escapes as a sob crying, “never again, please, never again”.  But in your heart you know that you don’t mean it.  You’ve been hooked and love’s an addiction not easy to escape.  Again you wonder what she’s feeling; you’re sure she’s just fine, which you resent; or perhaps you only think you do, after all, if you really loved her, you’d only wish her the best.  And you wonder if you do.

Looking deeply inside yourself you hope so and start to learn just who you are, on the morning after a love affair ends.


[1] © Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2011; all rights reserved

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