Today I learned that I am alone. Reminded, really. The illusion (that I had, apparently, unwittingly created myself) is shattered. Again.
Hanna explained things to me. Bless her. Though I hadn't heard from Bri in some time, I had been excusing her absence. No letters did not necessarily mean that there weren't any coming. But Hanna set me straight: they haven't come, and aren't coming, because there's no Bri to speak of. Certainly not the Bri I had fashioned for myself.
I am an idiot. As I told Hanna, and I believe it: I love being in love, and the pursuit of it. I was married for seven years, and that ended. I then fell more deeply in love and was more intimate with S than I ever could have imagined myself capable of, and two years later it, too, collapsed.
And then, right there at the end... so soon after S, and just before leaving for Africa, I met another. A chance. A muse. I have so much to share. I so desperately want someone with whom to share it.
I think, ultimately, that I was so excited, so panicked, that I tried to fashion someone as I needed them, not as they were. Damn me.
I have sufficiently healed from S that I now understand that I'll be okay. No matter what. But despite this rarely comforting realization, I cannot help myself. I cannot change myself. I am who I am. I need someone with whom to share. I love life; I love my life. I just don't want it all to myself, you know?
There's no finding love in Africa, though, I'll tell 'ya.
Oh. And what inspired me to write this: here
It seems I'm not alone, despite being alone. I'm not the only one that has felt the pain I was so certain was only mine.