Crossing the Threshold

My life is like sitting on the top of a roller coaster, about to take the plummet down. There's no going back. There's no getting off. There is nothing you can do to stop it. You're just sitting at the top. Waiting for the air to be gone from your lungs, and your stomach to drop. Waiting.

It's like standing on the edge of a cliff, and feeling the gravel crumbling out from beneath you. You step backwards and backwards as more of the run off crumbles away below you, and you fling yourself backwards only to catch onto a small twig: enough to hold you for now, but you can feel it giving way under your weight.

Nothing can stop the inevitable from happening. You can't stop it. You can't control it. You're going to fall. It's just a matter of time. But is it okay to be in love with the spot you are in right now, in this moment? Is it okay to want to stay here and enjoy the view forever? Must the plummet down be so scary? I'm in denial. I'm bargaining with myself. There must be something I haven't thought of yet.

No. You've thought of everything.

There must be something I can do to change the inevitability of this outcome.

No. You've done everything.

Now all I can do is wait. I wait for my life to fall apart. I wait to lose the love of my life. Thus far. The love of my life thus far. I could have been happy. I would have been happy. I know it. It could have worked. We could have been something.
But we're not. We just aren't.

I have to learn how to be again. To take the plummet down, and learn to just be okay with me, exactly as I am. Alone. 6 years of my life spent on someone who wouldn't sink in, to someone who would not give that. And I think, hey! Maybe in a year I'll look back at this and be somewhere different. But I wrote this same entry on another blank page last year. And the year before that. And the year before that. So chances are, I'll be reading this again next year. And next year I'll still be in love with him. And we'll still not be married. And we'll still not really be any different than what it is right now, in this moment.

"Love was never the problem." You hear it. But you don't know what it means. Love was never the problem. If love wasn't the problem than what was? How does it not come back to that question? How do I not know the answer--that if he loved me, we would be together? How do I avoid knowing that?

By sticking my head deeper into the dirt, getting high on his kisses and the smell of his shirt. By tangling myself up in him, and spending time in his space, daydreaming about a future in those walls that I'll never have, telling myself all he needs is more time.

Because I've waited 6 years. What's another year more?