There's a place where the muscle comes up to make a small convex rise in the otherwise smooth shape of my forearm. I can't look at that place without feeling an index finger pressed to it, without hearing my strength being praised and myself being called an amazon.
Though I started listening to them way back in college, the music of the Indigo Girls makes me think of elision now. I don't know when that ends, or if ever.
I'm still angry at him, but it's fading into the background. Already it fades, it leaves my top mind, and even as the freedom from the controlling influence of those dark emotions feels good, I can't help but be sad, that this is how it ends, that this is all that's left, and that it's all so quick. Even before the stupid ugly dénouement, we were severely disconnected, and here is the tangible evidence of that disconnect.
He'll never be gone from me; his marks are on my psyche, some good, some bad. Even as I try to keep my own mistakes at the forefront of my awareness, so that I can avoid repeating them, I mourn for the fact that so little of our potential was realized: much of what I had to give, he never had the capacity to accept; much of what I could have accepted, he never offered.
I believe that he wasted most of the opportunity that was I, and that it's his loss, I really do... but even as I do, I have a nagging, traitorous feeling that the real problem was me, that the gifts I have to give are monstrous, and that's the real reason he never took them, could not take them.
This feeling is not based in reality; it doesn't reflect damage to my ego (or not much, anyway). It's just the detritus of an ending I never wanted, the theft of a love I didn't want to lose, the death of a friendship I dearly wanted to keep.
My wants, denied. I'm sure I'll get over it; I get over everything.
I can't help but find his LJ handle intensely ironic right now.