In my dreams, I watched
as he turned away and the feel
of his hand against mine
had begun to fade.
I awoke to the imprint of loss
upon my palm
and the unforgotten ache
of regret etched into
my throat.
Both of us wanting.
But I was needing.
He could have been a beginning
had I not thrust him into an end.
He was the loss of a possibility
my teenage self
continues to mourn.
She had to refuse
what she most craved.
His eyes upon her.
His hand within hers.
The light of his affection
offering a home
of belonging.
She’s still clutching
to what could have been
had refusing him been a choice
she wanted to make,
rather than a reflex
she was forced to follow.
That’s the thing about survival…
It’ll choose scraps of security
and confining familiarity
over the gloss of risk
and flirtatious tease
of uncertainty.
What she most wants from me
is my non-doing,
non-fixing,
full-listening presence.
She wants me to sit beside her
and take in how impossibly hard it was
and still is
for her to hold the pain
of having to release
what could have been hers.
The feeling of being chosen
being wanted
and living less alone.
Through the rush
of tumbledown tears
mine, not hers,
she turns toward me
with downcast, doleful eyes
and whispers...
“I had to let go of a lot
in order to live.”
“I had to let go of a lot
in order to live.”
All she really wants
is for me to honor
and acknowledge
this heavy, burdensome truth
which had lived unspoken
until now.
“I know.
You had to let go of a lot
in order to live.
I know. And, I’m so sorry.”
She nods with resignation
as her body sighs with relief.
Together, we turn our attention back
to the fading image of him
growing smaller and smaller
as he walks farther and farther
into a past that’s still
so very close.
- Lauren Taub Cohen
