The feeling overwhelms me. I think of saying, now, the thoughts that were once so sweet to consider, and I feel sick. I'm paralyzed, I'm nauseated, my heart catches in my throat and keeps me from swallowing. I watch you walk away and I fall ten floors.

I can't tell you, not even the three-word abridged version that's meant to encapsulate this mix of pain, longing, and exhilaration that inspires art and propagates the species. Given where we are and where we can go from here, what would even be the point? I may as well plunge a random knife into my own chest for all the good it would do. For all the anything. The nothing.

But you — you — toss the words out like crumbs to starving pigeons, like change to the impoverished, with a merry, mischievous lilt in your voice. It's a taunt, a slap in my face. You use the only words I won't say and don't even weigh them first. Once more, when it comes to me, you're unaffected except to be happy.

Your simple pleasure in me does not complement the raw suffering I feel in your absence. Nor does it soothe it. Sharing this word, this vague designation that means so little and so much, we're further apart than ever. There's nothing I can say.

Responses to disappointment are probably evolutionary. The male response likely tends toward anger because it makes biological sense. The cause of his disappointment, if another person, might be intimidated into changing their position when confronted with such emotion (particularly, a smaller, weaker person).

Women, on the other hand, would tend toward outward displays of sorrow (e.g. crying) because their anger would be less likely to intimidate. Physically, they are at a disadvantage to their male counterparts. Their tears, however, may invoke a protective male response that can include a position shift.

Though a screaming woman most often provokes annoyance, a crying one incurs sympathy, and occasionally, compromise. Even women who feel their anger first, if they're smart, can know this and use it to their advantage. Unfortunately, converting rage to sadness is not a clean process, and its byproducts are far too frequently toxic.

---

I was frustrated, but had nothing to break and no one to hit. I thought tears would help -- serve as an outlet for me, and maybe soften his heart a little so he'd come around and give me what I wanted. But I was still too angry, and I couldn't cry.

I gave up, finally, and calmed down, and started to consider the implications of what had happened between us. I began to prepare for the worst-case scenario: he wouldn't make it right, I wouldn't be able get over it, and we wouldn't have each other anymore. And just like that, everything between us would end up having been useless and stupid, just like I feared from the beginning.

It didn't seem so bad, though. The habits we'd begun to develop with each other were still in their infancy. And I'd been holding back a little from the start, seeing this possibility and wanting to avoid making too many risky investments in him. Things began easing into perspective, and I started to feel better. But I went too far -- in my positive self-talk, I thought "Anyway, it's not so bad to be alone."

And with that, the tears came. I felt it this time -- the full weight of my involvement and precisely what I'd lose if I lost him. And it was like the sky fell down.

Because when it comes down to it, life -- my life -- is so ultimately meaningless. I can't seem to write my great novel that will change the world. I won't be a teacher who inspires the disenfranchised young masses. When it comes down to it, any use I offer will probably be on a minute, personal level.

But one person, if it's one that I love, can justify enduring so much misery. If it's someone who knows me, loves me... needs me, I can find fulfillment in reflecting that. In earning it. Without that exchange, some days I wouldn't even see a reason to leave bed in the morning. Honest days, where I turn my analysis inward and out.

He wasn't my justification, nor my raison d'être. But he gave me hope, hope I hadn't had for a while: the hope that I might find, someday, a person or two to justify it all. The hope that there's love out there that means something, and that there are people who deserve it.

He gave me friendship, and caring, and understanding. It meant something. It meant I could still hope for new beginnings, and that I could take comfort in knowing that I can still build good things, good relationships, from scratch. He made me smile, and he made me think, and he distracted me from my more serious personal miseries. Without him, life would go on, but my world would be a little darker for his loss. Maybe too dark.

I haven't spoken to my family in months. My closest friends all have friends closer than me. The world can do without one more CSS guru. Giving up, taking the easy way out, wouldn't be much of a sacrifice. It wouldn't be much of a loss. And having to face that realization again breaks my heart more than anything he did, much more.

"It's not so bad to be alone."

 

It is.