seven months and counting

Ending a relationship and watching my ex move on is a painful thing to do. I could have shut it out and never look him in the eye again, but I chose to be patient and force myself to internalize the facts. Maybe it's because I know I am not good at denial, maybe because I don't like to have enemies... maybe his accusation of me being an idealist was true, maybe I enjoy the experience of emotions too much. Probably, I want peace of mind. Probably, I want to heal completely so that I can love another just as much as I did the first (or more). There's something appealing about a pure, naive heart, unarmoured and unafraid. I wonder if it is possible to preserve such a condition beyond our youth...

Anyway, this process is taking a lot longer than I thought; and at the same time it seems quite quick. Nonetheless I consider it necessary. It'd be exciting to quote Darren Hayes, "It's been seven months and counting, you've moved on, I still feel exactly the same," but it wouldn't be true. I don't feel the same. There was a specific turning point in this plot and it was quite memorable. It's hard to describe but for a minute my mind was clear and I knew what I was and was not looking for. My ability to develop interest in others has returned, my worst fear is over! Jealousy remains though, it disgusts me how the mere mention of a name can be so foul, I must overcome this with alcohol, or rehab. Or time, that should do.

The Invitation

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.