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I Don’t Have a Name For This Emotion
What am I supposed to do with it if I don’t know what it is?
I sat on my patio in the desert heat last night after he left. I didn’t cry. My heart didn’t pound with anger. I just sat there with the truth. He’s gone.
Moments before, we were sitting on the couch. My legs draped over his like they always are. Like they did when he first started coming over months ago when we’d sit outside by the fire.
There was no discussion. Just an informed decision he made on his part. I didn’t argue. There were no raised voices. I didn’t put up a fight. I just let him go.
I’ve spent my whole life fighting for love. On the shortlist of things I have told myself I would never do again is try to convince a man to stay. If he wants or needs to go, I will let him.
I’m not angry. He called it off to spare me pain. He was kind and compassionate about it. He did it face to face. He was gentle. He has work to do. Neither one of us did anything wrong.
I’m not depressed. I got out of bed just fine. I woke up this morning in tears, but it didn’t seem like a choice I made. They were just there, the moment I opened my…
