No Longer Hoping

As I scroll through old pictures on my phone, I wonder about the opportunities I avoided, paralyzed by the fear around my heart. The logical part of me knows that it would have made no difference, that it wouldn’t have worked out anyway, that the pain of rejection for my old and brittle soul would have shattered me, permanently. Still, I wonder. If I was a little younger, a little more foolish, would I have been open to such impracticalities? 

It seems like the person capable of love has passed away. All that is left is this hollow shell of a human being, pretending to be alive. It is as if all the passion that once filled this heart has been burnt out, like a flame drowning in wax. And once that intense feeling has been ablated, it can never come back. 

I don’t know if it is a sign of a greater burnout, but I no longer feel any desire. Not for you, or for anyone. In some ways it is a relief, to be finally free of this obsession that has consumed me for the past year. I am sure if you knew, you might feel the same. Even during moments that would normally send people into pangs of loneliness, I am numb. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like something is missing. I don’t think there is something wrong with me. All there is, is a quiet, resigned contentedness. Perhaps this is my mind’s way of playing tricks on me, in order to survive. Either way, I do not mind. 

I read a book last week that reminded me of my situation with you (it would be wrong to call it our situation, given, well, I don’t really know your side of things). In the story, a boy could not move on from his teenage love, which led to him becoming an unmarried man in his forties. I’m sure to some people, such as my parents, this is a horrible outcome. And yet, especially given my condition, I cannot help but think this is inevitable, in a way. The natural order of the world, as sure as spring comes after winter. There is nothing tragic about it—that sort of view exists only in the human mind. It is what it is. 

Not that I don’t try. But, at my age, and in this society, I have come to accept that what I am looking for simply does not exist. Or if it does, the chances of us meeting at the right time and place would be like finding a unicorn in the wild. There’s no use to having any hope or expectation that it will happen. All we can do is carry on living our own lives, as best we can. 

I always wanted to write a story someday, one that you would enjoy reading. Today, I want to write it for my own sake. At the very least, I am thankful to have met you, or at least the version of you that you project for strangers, for it revealed the path my soul knew it must follow all along. We all have our own stories, and sometimes they wind up intersecting. Just because ours never did, doesn’t mean I don’t hope that you find your own happy ending.