Indigo

How do I not tell you what it is that my heart is bursting to tell you?

I have shed more tears this year than I knew existed in my body. I finally allowed myself to love someone completely and in the next breath they were gone. My past nonchalance inspired men to want to marry me, but my devotion to this boy had made him run in the opposite direction. The night the door rattled shut behind him I was certain a part of my heart had died forever.

I have spent the last year hanging onto him, convinced that if I let go I would never be able to believe in love again. My dreams, my anger, my advances and my regressions have all been because of him or in spite of him. There was no way I could allow myself to believe that he truly didn't want to be with me forever, because to believe that meant, somehow, I was worthless. There have been days I felt deeply that I would never recover. Not fully. That I would be forever crippled from this blow and the wound would essentially make it impossible for any future man to love me. There have been very dark days and more tears than I knew existed in my body.

So, I have cocooned. I have written and meditated and watched movies and waited for relief. I have dedicated my time and permitted myself the space I needed to heal and mourn and mend. I cautioned myself against jumping into a random relationship for a quick fix to my loneliness and, instead, allowed myself to sit in pools of pain and observe how strong I really am. I have built my world back up and made new friends and found solace once again in a spotlight hitting my face. I have prayed silent prayers asking the Universe to keep He That Was Worth Waiting For safe while I got back on my own two feet. "I will be there soon," I have whispered to this unmet man, "hang on." I booked a ticket to Europe and got in my car and drove across Canada and started to do things again that gave me back my power. I have been finding me.

And now, someone appears. Translucent, shimmering, he has barely arrived and yet my rainbow is getting back its Indigo. He calls it 'brewing' and he is right. A potion filled with magical possibilities simmers in front of me and I stir it with awe while making sure to tend to my own fire. I am giggling again, like a preteen girl and finding myself daydreaming in the most delightful way. When we talk, I can't stop smiling and when we don't talk, I wonder about what he might look like asleep. He is a man, not a boy, and he has brought me a gift. Open it, his words say to me, and when I do I see what is inside ... and it appears to be that thing that I thought died the night the door rattled shut. It is the greatest gift anyone could give me after my year of suffering. I will keep the gift and it will lift me up, no matter if the mirage that is him comes to life or fades before it has a chance to shine.

I call him Jax.

And that's all I will tell you for now.