Isolation

I am alone in this house, alone in my bedroom with the door closed, holding back what lies beyond. This room with its closed door has become a sanctuary away from the life outside that door. Memories of her hang in the air, and there is no place out there for my longing of her. A different time, a different space, filled with lonely and tiring walks up the stairs to another night of isolation.   

Trapped between isolation and love. Former love plunged me into isolation, and that isolation ran its course. I progressed. Edit : I am progressing.  

My first night alone in months and I am reminiscent, reminiscent and hurting. I miss the simplicity of loneliness; of knowing I have no one to miss, to love, to worry over. At some point I got used to the pain of being alone, and that implies I got used to a life with no life. And now I am struggling with getting adjusted to a life WITH life, a life with love, a life with growth - MY growth. This struggle brings understanding to the years of isolation. And that understanding hurts her.    

Tonight I was thrown back into my seclusion. Not out of choice, but out of necessity, her necessity. So I rebel by thrusting myself deeper into the detachment. I leave this house with thoughts of leaving everything, with thoughts of worth in the measure of love and pain. I drive looking for answers, and find myself at the birth of our relationship. I smile at the circle drive where I picked her up for our first date; remembering her shy smile and the surprise of snow in April.    

We had coffee and a closed door on the rest of the world. We brushed hands across the table, tapped legs beneath, waited, teased. We looked into each other's eyes and held the eye contact, letting ourselves see and be seen. I dropped her off in this same circle drive. I remember watching her walk inside hoping she would look back, and she did.    

Can this love stare down this pain?    

I promised myself time, as much time as I needed to ease myself out of isolation. And now I am caught in a rush, demanding more of time that is already delicate and beautiful. I owe myself more time.    

Where is the rush coming from? Fear of time running out. Why? I can't let go of the feeling of playing catch up. Some part of me has always felt behind, that I am missing out, that I am not where or who I am supposed to be. I can combat the feeling with words by saying I am exactly where I am supposed to be, but I know myself too well to believe them.    

Now I question the purpose of these words - to persuade? to convince? to express reality? truth? For now. 

September 16, 2005