what is at the end of the road of years and years of love? at times, what is at the end of that road, of a happy ending, perfect story, is heart ache, loss, and regret.
I remain hopeful that despite my biological clock practically not ticking any more and practical impossibility of being a mother, that I will be happy all the same, for being able to be with one I choose to be with now, even if no one can say we have a future at all.
Speaking of the future, I wanted a future, with my friend E. Was it so hard, so difficult, so unreasonable, so selfish, to wish for a life of growing old together? Because in me, and in her we had something, or maybe it was nothing at all, but maybe something that could not be replicated in any other relationship, that we knew and accepted each other. I felt known and accepted. And I thought I was reciprocating in the same way. Sometimes we think we know where we are, who we are and where we are going. But we don’t always know. And others who know us may be in a better place to see where we are holding. But when they fail us, and we have no clue, what then? All as tomorrow is Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday is all but a week away, I hope for hope that brings life out of death. I hope for future that makes meaning of detrimental heartaches of the past. I hope for healing that can build on remnants of brokenness.
I so much want to survive and to endure, to come out, to make it to the end of the tunnel, the light that I see, I want to reach out and feel the warmth of it, I hope when I get to the other side, that you will be standing there waiting for me, and when I see you I am not sure that I could stop my silent wailing.