Tag: love

52. So this love I had, where does it go?

I don’t think that I have ever had my name written on the sand. I remember the giant ‘SOS’ that marked the expanse of beach on a winter’s day in North Wales. I didn’t really need rescuing, but it was awfully cold. But the initials in the sand, made with all the little white pebbles that the writer, or writers, had searched the shore line for to make sure that lots of matching ones could be found, those initials and the heart and the date – they made my own heart skip.

It’s a beautiful thing to be in love. The overwhelming, all consuming feeling that you need nothing else in the world, that you’ll breath in as they breath out and that will sustain you. It’s as important as leaving your heartfelt message on the sand. And just as fleeting.

So this love I had, where does it go when the waves have been and gone?

I still feel it at moments. Not the intense new love, but the one that cares, that smiles, that would bring tea and toast. And somehow that’s the feeling I miss most. Those small touches that you share and do for each other. Funny things to share, understandings of each other that don’t need explaining.

The thought of trying to build those again seems a swim too far at the moment. But who knows.

I’ve been away for a week. Very lucky me, I know. And I spent most of it sitting on beaches watching the sea come in and out. It’s like breathing, and gradually it made me realise that I hadn’t been breathing properly for quite some time. Being warm, in the sun, with nothing to do and no need to do it, made me stop. No work to organise, plans to make, shopping to do, dog to walk. Read a book, don’t read a book – no one minds either way. And it was wonderful. Because rather than thinking – about me, him, my future, our past – I stared at the sea.

Past holidays came into my mind, but not for long, and not to cause pain. Future walks on the beach were considered, but they will come and who knows what they’ll look like. I’ve strolled along many sandy coves, laughed with good friends while paddling in the sea, and watched many many waves.

Nothing lasts on the sand. And that’s the way it will always be.

 

28. I could pack for holiday using the bags under my eyes.

There a few things that, if at all possible, are really helpful to remember when you are feeling broken and hollow.

One is that All Things Change. Much like ‘This too shall pass’ and ‘tomorrow is another day’ it’s a helpful, if a little smug, reminder that what ever you feel today will be different in the morning. There is the possibility, of course, that you’ll feel worse, but you won’t feel worse forever. Limited comfort when you find yourself sobbing on the floor of your best friends bathroom at four in the morning, but doesn’t make it any less true.

Another helpful tip is ‘stay away from mirrors’. Quite frankly I hardly recognise myself. I could pack for holiday using the bags under my eyes, and I look like I’ve put my makeup on upside down. Lack of sleep is taking its toll on my face. Great! Just what I need. But, based on the facts of the last paragraph, it’ll hopefully go from suitcases to handbags to purses and back to me. Just hope it doesn’t take too long.

But my last pearl of wisdom is ‘be thankful for those that love you’. Yesterday I came to Derbyshire with the dog to be away when he returns from his walk to pack up and leave. I’m in the home of my dearest, best and oldest friend. I feel safe and comforted. Her husband makes me laugh and cry in equal measures with hugs and jokes and honesty. Even the dog has her best doggy friend to play with. I think I can breath a bit here. I’ve been holding things together for quite some time, rather well I think. But now I’m somewhere I can let go. Not all in one go, For fear if being too much of a mess on the floor, but it’s a start.

And for all my wonderful, loving and kind friends I am so very grateful. A small message here, an suggestion of a dog-walk there are kindnesses that remind me I am loved. By people who know me and choose to do so as a result of that. Which when you’re feeling a bit abandoned is the handle to help you stand up again.