in the dark

Much like a college sleepover, I’ve had to relocate due to the storm. I am currently without electricity and water. Weeks before my departure and life seems to be preparing me for my return to Third World conditions. So, while they all sleep, I write to you in the dark…

What do you do when you’ve passed the grace period of feeling something for someone? I’ve been asked a lot of questions since I started my blog, but that’s something I’ve never been asked. Why? It’s because people don’t talk about the people that they can’t forget. Because people stop understanding you. They think it’s your fault for holding on. They think you misinterpreted the relationship in some way. So, you go dark. You go dark because you start to believe it’s foolish. Because a part of you knows that this should be gone by now. Because a part of you should be laughing it off by now, right?

But you’re not laughing, so you go dark. You go dark because you know you’re alone in this, because a part of you knows what you’re pinning over wasn’t that great; you just remember it that way. A part of you realizes that you think it was love, but you might just have pictured it that way. You go dark because you do feel foolish for still feeling something for someone that’s long gone. You go dark because you’re not really sure how to make it stop.

You go dark with the hope that your wound can heal in private. So, you give it time and begin to live your life again. Every so often, you check on it—you feel great, progress must be made, right? But there it is. There is it still: the missing, the wondering, all of the things that felt safe, the old everything, there it is. No one knows, but there it is. You go dark because there is nothing left to explain to people. The logistics are gone, the conclusions have faded, and it’s just what’s left—that feeling. It’s just here with you.

Maybe it’s the embarrassment that makes it last so long. The embarrassment that you got stranded at the emotional train stop by yourself. That you felt safe enough to believe in Shakespeare’s promise of forever. So the girl on the public blog is telling you to stop being embarrassed. The girl with the impractical passions in her life is telling you that it’s okay to love things that seem less practical. I think I’m starting to realize that it’s okay to love things that you may never have. I don’t know why we do, but we do and I think we need to learn to be okay with that. I’m betting all my marbles, that one day, it’ll all make perfect sense. But for now,  it’s time to put the shame away.

I wish that I could tell you that you feel this way for a specific reason, but I don’t know why. I don’t know why some of us end up loving way past the grace period. When the curtain comes up and all there is to show is the stage on which this show was played. No love in sight. I don’t know.

But today, I came to write about it. I’m writing about it because this is what writing is all about—sharing vulnerabilities and weird ideas. Something that I came to understand in the last year is that very few people will understand the matters of your heart. Very few people will understand why I moved away from job searching, why I want to leave New York, and more importantly, why I came in the first place. You need to begin to understand that and own that. You need to understand that very few people will understand matters that have to do with your passions.

In all things in life and all matters of the heart, it’s time to throw away the norm. It has to be the veering off course that makes us who we are. It has to be the heaviest of our passions that fill our hearts. It must be the rules we break and the grace periods we fail that shape us. I guess that’s the adult’s equivalent of coloring outside the lines. So, whatever it is you’re holding on to, let the shame go. Be okay with it.

It’s with you for a reason. Let it do it’s work, even if it’s just here to teach you how to hold something that no one else will understand. It’ll make sense one day. I’m betting on it.

Esperando la luz, 
Tone
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About Antonella Saravia

Antonella is a freelance writer. Graduated from Purdue University, Antonella is based out of New York City and Nicaragua, where she was raised. Follow her via Twitter @tonesaravia & Instagram via @tsaravia.

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