I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself. I continually knock on a door knowing the lack of response will only chip another piece off my heart. Yet, despite the pain, I find myself on this doorstep once more.
The wisteria is a nice touch, screening my small concrete square. He must have paid quite a bit to get full-grown wisteria in the brief interlude I didn’t stand here. I do appreciate that my desperation, or stupidity, or stubbornness, or insanity, or whatever ties me to this small spot is no longer on display for all who pass by.
I tried to leave forever once. Walk clean away without looking back on the square of suffering that has defined my life for the last slice of forever. The thought of not having the pain of chipping bits of my heart off was almost as terrifying as the idea of having to learn to live with the constant pain of a piecemeal heart.
My feet paused in fear and my head turned – I looked back and lost all resolve to keep my feet from walking their familiar path back to this square.
So now I find myself back in my small square of self-imposed servitude to a love that will never reciprocate. Because the pain that has become a part of my essence and existence comforts me. Trying to find a new place and way of life would damage my heart more than fully accepting the reality I have chosen. I have put my roots down here and leaving would be more painful than the constant chipping.
The only comfort I would wish is a location with less rain; it could be quite pleasant to stand here in the sun. But the raindrops that cover the ground most afternoons are particularly refreshing, and the animals that scurry around are almost endearing. I would rather like to be inside with him and not out here slicing my heart to oblivion, but I know this square marks the boundaries of our interaction. As long as I can stay in my tranquil square, my self-scarred heart can endure anything.