I feel as if I pushed everything inside and then it was a mix of melting and mourning, wanting to somehow be alright with it all, what I would not have chosen before. I pulled into me all that was surrounding, whether right or wrong, to shield me from the rawest of it all: what lies in my head in sleep and waking hours, gnaws at my dreams. The strangest part, is that now it hurts more honestly but the relief is just as harsh; I can sleep through the night, I can let myself cry, and I can still want what I wanted before. I don't have to settle in any way. I don't have to hold on tight to what I know is not right for me.
I guess that pairs are not synonymous with symmetry. I can feel free and suddenly mourning what I have lost in my father; I can forgive myself for not always loving right, or who I should love, for having to try, make wrong decisions along the way, but in all of it still believing I will have what I have, at one time, known so well.
I am really proud of both of us for not settling for what is less, for what is cutting honesty, and for this maturity I have never before known. I am not even angry inside.
New York, on the other hand, is not a city of symmetry, itself; it is not a city that can be sidled up to. But it is a haven in the most hearty of sense. And finally, here, now, I don't feel so hollow; while it hurts, I'm whole, it's home.
What I am so afraid of is really the fear itself, because the most daunting but demanding decisions, those that we know the (difficult) answers to, are exhales to make, flattening of too-full lungs, a fancy unraveling of that which already lies at our feet. I have to laugh, when thinking, knowing that the decisions have long been made but unspoken, always in ice. Suddenly, it all seems symmetric. Not perfect, not easy, but far more fitting. And there is little more that I could ask for, that I want today. I feel almost guilty in the glutton of release.
