I will close this door now.

The silence surprised me first.  I can’t say I knew quite what to do with its weight, its severity, its incessant echo.

They don’t prepare you for that.

And when the silence lasted, when it stretched across days and then weeks, I responded as I always do: I picked up my chin, pushed past the tightness in my chest and the sting in my eyes, took a deep breath, and forced myself forward.  In light, sing-song tones, I repeated my mother’s words: “Carry on then!  Carry on!”  What’s the use in crying?  What’s the use in agonizing and over-thinking and wondering—oh, the wondering!

At least I can say I was prepared for that stage—for knowing when and how to just let go already.  Yes, I have that part down well.

But, I won’t pretend.  I won’t put on airs.  You and I both deserve more than that.  We are adults.  And I threw my masks and mixed pretenses away with the decade newly past.

So if you ask me, I will tell you the truth:

You hurt my feelings.

Not in some dramatic and bloody fashion.  And not in a I’ll-never-speak-to-you-again kind of way.  But more in the way that you feel the sudden sting of a bee or the tender depth of a thorn for days and days, because something got in, dug itself beneath the barrier we hold up against the world, and left bruises.

I let you in.

And you sauntered away without so much as a “thank you” or “good-bye.”

That appalling dismissal, that blatant disregard—it has surprised me more than the silence.  It has hurt more than the sting, the tenderness.  Those bruises heal within days.  But, the knife of negligence, of narcissism, cuts deep and leaves scars.

As I write this, your silence continues, unabated.  I am comfortable with it now.  Now, we are the friends you and I once were.

I have much to learn still, but I do know this: Potential is beautiful, powerful, cloaked in hope and carrying promises for the future.

We had potential.

If only I had seen that beneath your cloak, behind your fistful of promises, you had nothing to offer me but bruises, cuts, bitten lips, bad manners, and silence.

13 responses to “I will close this door now.

  1. Well, damn. I hate when that happens.

    Eh, yeah—me, too. But, carry on. Carry on.

  2. I’m sorry, my love.

    Nothing you need to be sorry about, missy! :) But, thank you just the same.

  3. So beautully written.

    Thanks, Cristina.

  4. The worst events in life often result in the most profound expression.

  5. ouch. the side effect of pain is, at least in your hands, great expressiveness. i’m sorry this happened, but man, did you write it out beautifully.

  6. Wow. I know exactly how you feel. I’m sitting with that silence in my life right now. I don’t really know what to do with it? I’m resisting the urge to make noise…so much so, I have planned a Vipassana this summer…

    Heal quickly, Hannah :)

  7. I see you as such a passionate person. To pain, to love, to life. Cheers to it all and carry on with that beautiful passion!

  8. I don’t remember exactly how I stumbled on your blog, but I love it. You are such a beautiful writer. I look forward to every post and I’m glad you decided not to quit.

  9. Wow. That was heart-breakingly beautiful. So poignant. xo

  10. And I’d give him a piece of my mind too, if he were here or I were there or we’d actually met at some point in the midst of the brief affair and I knew where to find him. A clod, a dim-wit, a never-you-mind. “A little undersaid and over-song.” There are promises that hold promise—stay open and listen.

  11. Beautifully written. I hate the silence, the lack of goodbye. Its the hardest end to deal with.

  12. I’m short on words these days, so my sincerest apologies.

    I love you strong, brave, true friend. I feel what you feel.

  13. I know. It is terrible.

    I am sorry you are feeling this.

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