A Love Prayer

In my dreams, all night, I am traveling to distant places, trying to find home. In snippets, I see him, but we cannot talk. He is an apparition, phasing in and out, yet somehow always by my side.

Our relationship did not last even three months, and yet I am grieving like I have lost something I had held for ages.

We fell deeply in love very fast, and broke up even faster. I think to both our surprise, one day, my broken parts and his broken parts looked at each other and said, “Enough.” 

And we both walked away.

In those short months, he saw me. He knew me in ways I had never let anyone witness me before. He showed this lonely soul a sense of home, family, and connection. With him, I leveled up. I learned what it is to love without limits. 

And then it stopped.  

My life is a story of never being fully seen. It is a story of tender childhood gifts being handed over, doled out, and offered up to the highest bidder.

Unlike the others, he did not want my goods; he simply wanted me - exactly as I am.  

And him? Well, his life is a messy, knotted story of struggle, betrayal, and survival. Life right now is eating him alive. He can barely see straight.

And yet somehow, some mornings, I am here alone in bed, secretly wanting nothing more than to see him, to smell him, to hold him, and let the tears come. (His tears or mine? I'm not quite sure) 

But this is not how life's drama playing out right now. Today we're just two separate, messy people sending occasional texts through the ether.  

Here, but not here.

Just like in my dreams.

My dear friend Kristy, an artist and a young mother, says, “Tell him how you feel. Tell him you miss him. It's okay to want to try again.”

My sweet brother - a builder and my protector says, "Please don't do it, Beck. Not yet. Take care of YOU.”

And so here I am, alone this morning in the tangle of these bedsheets, writing to you, witnessing a full-body wrestling match between my heart and head; lovesick, nauseous, and torn between the aching pull of doing what I should do and what I must. I'm not sure which is which.

And to you, my dear reader friends, I apologize. As I write from bed this morning, I don't have the right answers or words to wrap up this essay in a pretty bow. 

It simply is what it is. 

I've realized and accepted that today may just be another day of feeling this pain. And I suppose that's okay.

And so I end this piece with a prayer.

To the Great and Holy Spirit, I ask:

Please fill my cup.  Please fill his.

Please bring these two hearts together in just the ways You see fit.

Your will, not my own.