lake district

“You will find someone else to love you.”

That is what I say to myself when I feel my heart grating against the want of you. Despite the knowledge of what should be, and with the knowledge of what is, of what it was.

I fall deeply into the lake of our past often. I stay there, suspended in the water by memories. Funnily, I hardly remember the sound of your voice any more. Or the feel of your hands. Or the way you would look at me when I did something that made you happy. I hardly remember those things now. But I remember other things. Mostly how you made me feel, the good and bad of that. Missing you was part of us and it still is but worse because I am breaking away from you like a habit.

When I realize I’ve been floating too long in the stagnant water of what we were, I get out and I notice how heavy I feel, weighed down with the remains of you. I notice how much colder the air is on my skin, how I can hardly get warm, How my clothes take forever to dry. And I regret stepping foot in the lake.

But I go back again and again, I can not help it for the most part. Although, somedays I am strong enough to walk straight past, even though my jaw is aching from clenching so hard in my desire to bellyflop into the familiar.

I read something that said “True power is restraint.” And I’ve never been good at that. I’ve always wanted to throw off the bow line and set sail. Even if the clouds are rolling in black and blue and the water is choppy. I am constantly trying to un-restrain myself. Even if I shouldn’t. Learning what a self made boundary is, is hard. You must create them and then stick to them.

But back to the point.

I think of you every day. And then I remember I am no longer yours and you are no longer mine. I belong to myself now, and that is a strange and uncomfortable feeling; one I sometimes like, but mostly just resent. I hope I move past that soon.

Whenever the heartache gets to be too much, I just think about someone else doing your job. For now, that person is me. And when someone worthy appears, it will be him. And that will be that.

And I will go back to the lake of you and me less and less. Perhaps, sometime in the future, I will learn to look at it and admire it’s beauty without swimming in it. I will say “I use to swim here, and there were some beautiful things about that. I don’t swim here any more, but it sure was a pretty time when I did.”

Maybe I will learn how not to saturate my whole heart like you would a cookie in a glass of milk. I will not crumble in the leaping. I will learn restraint. I will find my footing.

I will find someone else to love me.

Already I have found me, and that is a gift more precious than any lake anywhere.

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