I drove to the city and met up with Seth, where we hung out in his room and talked, then grabbed dinner at B Star on Clement. We spoke about work, relationships, life, and how I should proceed with Gabriela. He recommended I talk to her, that that’s the only thing I can do, tell her how I’m feeling, tell her what’s on my mind, and talk until it’s worked itself out, or it doesn’t, and either way there will be resolution. I decided this was sound advice, that I’d given her a few days of space, the weekend to spend with her family. I know she’s busy when she’s home, attending to all the relatives and friends who vie for the attention of this professional ballet artist.
When I returned home last night I called her. She was out with her friend Delia, and I told her I’d call her when she was getting ready for bed. We spoke for about 25 minutes. She told me how her family was, how her brothers and nieces and nephews were doing, how her friends were. It was the usual pleasantries, very light hearted and easy going, with smiles and laughter. I asked when she returns home, and she said she’ll be returning at 9:40pm tomorrow evening. I told her I’d pick her up. She said I didn’t have to. I said of course I don’t have to, I want to, I’ve been missing her, and she’s been gone a long while. She said it wouldn’t be healthy and she knows I have work early the next day. I said I’ve been missing her and I don’t mind at all and I want to, and that even if it’s for 30 minutes I’d be so happy to see her. That was that, and the conversation moved on. She had to wake up early to get a workout in before she did a video shoot with a government agency that licenses ballet instructors. She would be the model used in the instructional videos. We said our goodnights and hung up.
I miss her. I keep pouring over all pictures of us, all the pictures she’s sent me over the past two years, and I can’t help but reflect on how much I failed to appreciate her consistency. It’s something I took for granted. She didn’t have boundaries, and the whole while that’s all I really wanted her to erect, boundaries for herself, and boundaries for me. I didn’t like hurting her, and I didn’t like her hurting me. But healthy boundaries are a good thing as we negotiate our needs and learn about the other person’s needs.
I love her. I miss her. I want us to work things out. I keep suppressing any fears that this is over in her mind. I can’t let myself believe it. Sometimes they rear their head, and tell me she’ll continue biding time until she leaves for London, that she’ll do the minimum from here on out. I don’t even care to be honest. She’s free. I just want to enjoy my time with her as long as I have her, and show her just how much she means to me, and how much I love her, until it’s irresistible, and we find each other again. I want my love to be seductive and savoring and addictive and safe and comfortable, with no strings attached, with my ultimatums, which is what my ego wants. It wants ultimatums: decide to marry me now or say goodbye, my heart can’t take it. But that’s not love.
And in the end, this isn’t about the Royal Ballet of London, or another guy in London who seduced her for a night or two. This is between her and I, and the love we share, and the relationship we’re healing and mending and working on. I can’t forget that. It’s not about anyone or anything but us, her and I, my love for her, my selfless devotion, my earnest desire to please her.
In this process I must remain healthy, and keep my focus on activities and thoughts that continue to uplift me and improve who I am. I cannot ruin myself trying to “win” her back. That would be self-defeating. I must greet each day with appreciation and thankfulness, and be grateful for the interactions she share that make life better.
I miss her. I think of her every day. I always have. Even when I didn’t want to. I can’t stop looking up memories of her, photographs of our adventures together, of our selfies to one another, of the sweet words we’d exchange in loving affection.
I know she loves me, and I know I love her. This is obvious. What’s not obvious is whether we will learn to completely accept each other, flaws and all.
I know who she is. I know who she is not. I accept her. I hope that when all this is done, she can do the same for me, and recognize that I want to be better for her.
At the end of the day, it’s a matter of two people waiting for the other. We have our goals, we have our dreams, we have our impatient desires. The person we choose we choose to wait for, no matter where they are. Real love, true love, abides.
That Love Abides.
“Love never fails” – it abides.
When a child has been gone all day among strangers and thinks he ought to go home but is afraid to go alone and yet really wants to stay as long as possible, it says to an older one, who perhaps prefers to go sooner, “Wait for me”; and the older one does what the child asks. When one of two colleagues is somewhat more advanced than the other, the latter says, “Wait for me”; and the first one does as asked. When two persons have rejoiced over a decision to take a trip together, but one of them gets sick, the sick one says, “Wait for me”; and the other person does as requested. When one who owes another man money cannot pay, he says, “Wait for me”; and the other man does as asked. When a girl in love sees that there will be great and perhaps prolonged difficulties in the way of her union with the beloved, she says to him, “Wait for me”; and the lover does as asked.
Perhaps the time of waiting is too brief to make completely clear the extent to which the determination of one’s waiting deserves decisively to be called love. Alas, perhaps the time of waiting was so long that the older one said to the child, “No, I can’t wait for you any longer”; perhaps the slower one moved so slowly that the one ahead said, “No, I can’t wait for you any longer; I must travel alone”; perhaps the prospect of union with the young girl remained so remote that the lover said, “No, now I can no longer wait for you; I owe it to myself and my life not to put things off year after year for this uncertainty.” – But love abides.Kierkegaard, Works of Love, p. 281 (Harper-Perennial: 2009)