My chest feels open, as though an old wound, never healed, were continually bombarded with dull hammer blows, heavy, obscene. A dull physical pain, glowing with agony from deep inside. I feel it constantly, until I manufacture some diversion from my sorrow and grief.
Yet this is not as heavy and agonizing as the time when we first broke up, many years ago, with that final, finishing, devastating rejection. I can easily recall that pain; the daily awakening, immediately remembering the loss of you as my sleepy eyes began leaching tears. I remember my struggles to get through each day without crying at work, and in front of the little ones; to try and not think of you was laughable.
And in the evening, sometimes while I was making dinner or talking with the little ones, you might call me, with that soft, sensual voice and time would slow. I would grip the phone for love of sanity, forcing my voice to be light, even, careless. How was I, was everything okay? you would want to know. You would reassure me that you wanted to remain friends, and that I was important to you. Every night I dreaded and prayed for that call, so at least I could hear your voice and know you weren't really rejecting me, my soul.
How many times did I walk down your street or drive by your house, looking in your window to see if you were home? How many times did I grab that phone to call you and hang it back up? I missed your light so badly. I missed your kisses, your arms so much. I diverted myself with all kinds of things to stop feeling the black twisting, searing agony of my heart losing its' soul mate.
It was the right thing to do; as now; but the pain is so intense and so real, I can barely breathe right now as I hold back the tears and anguish. It's so hard to care about anything else right now, and to remind myself that this is a necessary thing.