Her Love Never Was

Ancient Days FitzwilliamThe Ancient of Days (Fitzwilliam) by William Blake

 (press play for audio)

I heard today it didn’t happen. I heard it was only a rumor. My beginning, my end, my in between were nothing more than a trickle of fiction falling into an abyss of jagged rocks and smooth stones of black and gray and blue and bronze there beneath a pool, a pond, a puddle alongside broken pavement. It couldn’t be more ordinary than if it were on a mission to be mild. What I thought were hues bordering on brilliance were dull and easily forgotten the way quartz or halite or calcite are forgotten after they fall through outstretched hands and opened fingers. She, the game changer, changed my game with no more than fine and few words. Burst was my balloon and tossed over the angry neighbor’s wall went my ball.

I was told my lifetime was lifeless, that it was empty and obsolete. Whatever she says I am I will be and she said I will be nothing to her and no more. She said she didn’t want me around and I believed her. I believed in my love betrayed and heart decayed. I believed I was slain and left to limp away in loneliness. I was left to hold and hug a sunken heart the way it sinks when it learns there is no Santa.

Peaks I had reached had become plateaus. I could see what took years to nurture and reluctantly acknowledge were washed away in seconds between one text and the next. I hung on each unfinished message waiting while she worked on it until she stopped working on it and had nothing more to say. She stopped short, but she said it anyway. She said it in a language I understood, in a pause, in one I was hoping was pregnant about to be birthed and then it was gone, edited, trimmed, redacted and aborted and that dead baby died the way I did, silently, quietly on common rocks under what was once a river. And that river and me and us and we were nothing any longer. I was over before it ever began because she said so and she said it with finality and forever. So me, my plans, my ideas and designs, my achievements which were hopeless to hold a candle to simply being near or around her on an orchard of olive trees were wrecked on stone without even a splash, because a rumor is what she called it and a rumor it was. While my love is and will be, her love never was.


5 thoughts on “Her Love Never Was

  1. Beautifully written my friend.
    Love is not love unless it is given away. Yet we feel the pain when it is not accepted in the spirit by which it was given. There in lies the sacrifice, for love without sacrifice is not love.
    However, we too have hurt another by rejecting the love that we so hoped would be accepted when we reject the love of one who would never reject ours; God.
    In that, there is always a reason to love.


  2. “Whatever she says I am I will be and she said I will be nothing to her and no more “…beautifully heartbreaking. I find I personally write a revisionist history – once out of love, I convince myself I never was in it at all…perhaps other people do the same. Just a thought.

    Also, I actually felt your pain of waiting for those three dots to turn into words…the longest moments of life, waiting for the message to materialize – or not.

    And lastly have you ever heard of the Larry Gatlin song where the lyrics are

    Falling in love is the kind of thing two people do every now and then
    I’ve been doing it different I’ve been falling all by myself over and over again
    Falling in love alone is easy staying in love alone ain’t easy at all
    This times gonna to be different cause I’m takin somebody with me when I fall

    Country music at it’s best! Bit of a scattered note, but your words always make my mind explode with activity xx

    Liked by 1 person

  3. As always, Marj, you read me well and I think you’re right. If I can be permitted to guess what she meant, it’s exactly that, talking herself out of her feelings. Hopeful speculation on my part, but nevertheless. Those three dots, that’s it exactly! I love that you get “it”, that you understand and that you speak my language. I know what I write makes perfect sense to me, but often times interpretation from others doesn’t resemble my intent. I looked up that song, thank you for it, btw. It sounded almost disco or abba-ish. lol I won’t hold it against you. And as much as you claim that I inspire your mental activity, you inspire me and that’s the truth.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s