People circle back into our lives and with them they bring all the previously held ideas of who you were to them the last time they were in your life. Maybe it’s the thought of the past happiness, or maybe it was even the promise of sex. But reality is what was there before is no longer in existence.
Oh the previous ‘spark’ might seem to be there, on their part, but after so many times of bait and switch it’s no longer there for you. What’s worse is when someone is determined to make it appear as if you, yes you, were the one who has circled back in or attempted to make contact.
I’m uncertain what is worst. The person circling back in the first place or how they bring all this drama along in tow. It’s like a dance with all the choreography in place, everything ticking along perfectly. Partners twirl in each other’s arms. Leaps carry them across the room back into welcoming arms with the joyful smiles along with the welcoming embraces. In the midst of all this wonder is the lumbering one who staggers back into the fray out of nowhere shoving their partner away harshly. Then with a rough tug pulls them smartly back into their arms.
This disjointed mess amongst the beautiful movements of all the others causes everyone to stop in their tracks to stare, to whisper and to finally ignore the sight as they go back to their dance. Eventually the one in the middle, the object of ‘desire’ is left standing alone destitute of all love, all emotions distanced within themselves as they bear the shame of being left yet again. Left after never having sought out the lumbering partner in the first place.
All the joy from the previous solo dancing is gone. All that is left behind is the shame of momentarily thinking the dance could again be one filled with the joy of a welcome embrace. The shame covers you with the knowledge that everyone believes you were the one who sought out a reconnection. Even when the reality is far from this ‘truth’ all believe, it doesn’t matter when in the end you are still seen as the bad ‘guy’ in the story.
Somehow the story becomes crafted in such a way to make you an object of ridicule and the derision weighs heavy as you go through your day.
The days, which had previously been filled with moments of joy, of silly times are now ones where the mere act of waking is unwelcome. All regular activities become forced and you begin to wonder why this happened in the first place. Each day which had been a gift indeed becomes one where the gift is opened each day with a heavy heart and false gaiety.
It’s an unwelcome state of affairs indeed. One which could have been avoided in the first place by simply being unkind and short with the person in question.
Instead, with embarrassment hidden away, you smile to hide all the hurt away yet again as you try to find the joy you’d only just begun embracing.