The things she said.
Am I slowly getting over her?
Was she even ever here?
My feelings fluctuate between certainty that she'll come back and that I wouldn't put up any barriers, and resentment and utter incredulity at the things she said.
Her presence haunts me - knowing she was here and very real, and feeling that she was never here and hardly exists anymore. Hardly exists.
She is what grounded my own existence. It is me who I feel hardly exists. I don't exist anymore.
I can't measure how real she made me and everything around me. Sometimes I can't believe she was here and a part of my life. I can't believe I could have found her.
Her presence pervaded my every moment. I would go outside and she was part of the air, the skies, the sun and clouds.
She was part of the buildings that lined the roads, the lady looking out of a darkened, second story window, the sounds of traffic and neighbors talking and children playing.
She was part of the feel of the road, the bumps, the gravity, the momentum, the smells, the wind. She brought me to life.
Without her, I would have continued in a darkened, deadened state, not knowing what it meant to truly love, to exist. Without her now, I touched the dream, I held the dream, I had the dream.
The things she said; how coldly she told me that her only future options were in New York or Pakistan, and that her parents were trying to line up jobs for her and were already looking into prospective husbands for her. It was cold. It was like I never knew her. She deftly invalidated my existence or any impact on her life. Everything she said was moving towards our separation.
I have no idea how to reconcile the desire to have her back and the hurtful things she said and the coldness with which she said them. I want her back, I certainly need her, she's part of my life and part of me, but I don't know if it's possible. A huge conflict presents itself. The sea of love.
