The Hello of hellos

Of all the hundreds upon hundreds of hellos I’ve encountered, yours was the only one that truly made me feel as though I belonged. When your door opened, you accepted me, stepped aside, and with a mere gesture of your hand, swept the air away, creating space for me in your world. I resided there—heart and soul, body and spirit—hoping, praying I would never be asked to leave.

Yet life always forced me out: to drive to work, to pick up groceries, to take the kids to school, or to bring you your favorite coffee. Each step away was a quiet agony, but I bore the pain with the assurance that your world would still welcome me back. I clung to the promise that your lips would eventually form another hello—one that would draw me home.

Every time I left, I waited anxiously, rushing to complete my errands, my heart racing with the anticipation of returning to the only place I ever wanted to be: by your side.

And now, am I to be the smoke and the fire? The world’s biggest liar? I write these words for nothing—or maybe only so you can laugh.

This was the only world I knew that made sense, and that’s why losing you is losing myself. Once, I dedicated a hand-bound book to you, filled with all the writing you blogged, and gifted it to you on Christmas morning. What I wrote went as follows:

My love,

Since the beginning, I’ve only fallen deeper in love with you. Unknowingly, you are a thief. You stole my heart. You became my muse for the rest of time, inspiring life for the rest of my life. Merry Christmas. You’re the best author I know—published, too!

xoxoxo

This is what is burned in my memory. And here you are—the dream of my dreams, the ghost of my ghosts, the forever muse of my life. Are you amused? Do you feel accomplished that your mere existence allowed someone to be drawn to you this way? Or do you feel disgusted? Is it that I am unworthy of loving you? Am I a fool, still ignorantly in love after the tragic fallout? Am I a coward for continuing to love you? Is this mental illness? My heart doesn’t make sense. If I were cast away and burned alive, no one in their right mind would crawl back into your arms, knowing you carried a dagger behind your back. Yet… I would. It would be quite lovely to have my last breath in your arms. I must be ill. All I want is your embrace. That would ease everything. It would unfreeze me and allow me to carry on.