Dear Diary,

Love presents differently, depending on who you are, your life experiences, your values and priorities.

I wrote a post, because I was confused about how love could be finite (The Point Beyond). And people responded, with their own perspectives drawn from what they have known. Some were similar; some were not. But what I like about asking questions is finding an individual kind of truth.

My own world view is mostly grey; I can happily entertain that conflicting opinions are both true for different people. It really all depends on who you are.

And finding that out, who you are, day by day, is pretty damn important.

When ScooterDave commented, “I completely understand ‘won’t’…. Self survival must trump relationship survival,” it made me think of the movie Gattaca.

This scene perfectly captures two very different approaches to life, to struggle and hardship. The younger brother threw everything into this competition, into beating his idolized older brother. Survival was never a consideration. 

I have been in love only once. I left because I was young and stupid; I took love for granted. I thought there would be another man, another person–someday, soon.

I was twenty-two. Love seemed so simple.

That relationship haunted me for decades. It’s easy to reminisce, to remember the past in a rose-colored haze of perfect moments. But that’s not what kept me longing for days long gone. It was the fact that when I was with him, I finally felt something. I felt like a person. Everything in my head and my heart spilled out between us, bound us together into a beautiful dream that burned out too soon. There were exquisite days where nothing mattered but each other, when even water tasted like champagne. There were days when we were both exhausted with emotional fatigue like prison camp hostages, neither of us certain who was the jailer. We were cerebral and hyper-sexual and sensitively attuned to every vagrant mood.

After that, what could compare?

Here I am at the halfway point in life. I had learned how to be happy even only half-alive.

Now, this. A one-night stand that’s stretched into almost two years of daily goodnight phone calls and about a billion text messages. The stars shine brighter and food tastes good again.

I can’t help but wonder what will be left of me when this is all over.

One thing I do know for sure: I am not the kind of person who holds anything back.



**Photo Credits**