There is the slightest bit of color creeping into my eastern horizon letting me know I can give up any ghost of sleep. For the past few hours I’ve had other ghosts on my mind; ghosts of old boyfriends and forgotten friends. Primarily and honestly though it has been Mark that occupies my sleepless thoughts.
If you don’t know, he and I were together for almost 7 years and we restored the house I’m currently selling. Walking through the empty rooms, discovering the paint jobs he skimped on, remembering all the little details of home renovation that we went through together has forced me to bring that large bit of my past into new consciousness. I joked the other night about how odd it is I will profit on the house he talked me into buying. It was a dump when I first saw it and after a lot of effort on both of us, it really is a dwelling, a home, and beautiful container of many memories and life changes of mine. And the biggest change was a direct result of heart-break.
Because, while selling my home and packing (again) for Italy, the thing that keeps rolling around in the loose spaces is that I would have never gone if still in that relationship. There was no way it would have seemed plausible to even apply for a job in Florence. It was difficult for me to not assume responsibility and dress up for the roles of stability and security. But the past (almost) two years has reacquainted me with independence, whimsy for my own sake and the joy of never needing to consult for a personal decision. And I have Florence. So freedom to live and discover life is well worth the pain of a few months of tears and heartache.
Unfortunately, there’s the rub. The salt that kept me up last night. I have no way of thanking him. No way to let him know all is truly forgiven (and for once, not forgotten). I can’t swap stories about my life now or let him know that after all the time we shared I’m finally doing what he wanted me to do and that is to live and to write and to not be afraid. But I’ll take comfort in the fact there is always a dawn and hope that he too has found his.
Ah, and look, now it’s daybreak.