The scars of your love leave me breathless.

As in all things in this life, shit is tenuous. Short lived. Connections are quick grips at a rope that will keep us tied to something stable. Biggest lesson is that the something stable is always (or at least, SHOULD be) ourselves, and those lifelines back serve as reminders of who we are. Who we want to be. Who we feel is hidden beneath the six feet of dirt that daily life is trying to shovel onto us.

I offered Aaron an apology..I was told, repeatedly, that my standards for fortitude are unrealistic and I agreed when I had cooled down. He, however, lacked the grace to respond, and by extending that final apology and getting nothing back gave me a wonderful sense of closure towards him.

I am not, however, in the same boat in my feelings for Steve. I know that we broke up for all the right reasons, that at this point in our lives we're not at the same level or pace to be happy with each other, but I distinctly miss the beginning and not the end. When we would meet up and walk around Victoria Gardens and hold hands, smiling and laughing and sharing a shake at Johnny Rockets. I miss being his moonpie.

I feel like I did (and, to be honest, am still continually doing) anything to ignore the pain of that ending. I lunged headfirst into a renewed friendship with Aaron, I drove to Monterey/Santa Cruz/SF (and am going again this weekend), I'm doing massive orders for my side business and buying a new car and thinking about a new house and planning grad school options, etc. All to ignore that my heart is scarred.

I don't think I could ever give it as freely again as I did to Steve. It was so easy, so natural, to hand it to him, and him not loving me, him not making me a priority, and yet me loving him anyway is what makes me feel like my pumper went through a blender.

I had a customer call me today and ask me out on a date. Apparently he'd really liked me and was hoping to get to know me better. I never even considered it. Never thought, "oh, he could be a nice guy, maybe I should grab lunch some weekend." Nope. Nada. I bluffed it off and said I was dating someone and that, while I was flattered, no, please don't continue to call me at work because I would consider that a level of dishonest I don't want to be a part of.

I don't want to date anyone. I'm far from looking. Steve and I will probably never talk again and thinking about what a failure the relationship I had so much glowing hope invested in makes me never want to touch another.

Despite my puppy love heartbreaks, I've never recoiled like this from the prospect of future ones. The vastness of it makes me breathless. I wonder if souls can have scars where hope once lived.