Unfoldment

"It is all unfolding, exactly as it should" is the affirmative sentence I wanted to use to remind myself of divine order. I typed this as my facebook status this morning and then went unsuspecting into the world, where I saw the one I think of every day and wonder how she could have left me and what she's doing now and why she seemed to fuck me up so badly in the process of her departure from the life we co-created. It wasn't the lesbian American dream by any means, but we had an apartment furnished with little oddities and we listened to MGMT and Depeche Mode and we made love and walked our little free adopted chihuahuas and we laughed and laughed and danced and sang stupid songs and we coined ridiculous terms of endearment for one another. We talked about what our lives would look like when our wrinkled hands would still entwine as we fell asleep together night after night for years to come. We had an intuitive bond and she would always know if something was going on in my mind that didn't include her. I needed her back against the front of me to fall asleep at night.

It was there and then it went bad and then it was gone. And then, somehow, things managed to completely break into the ugliest configuration of shrapnel, and every now and then one of us would initiate some fucked up communication that would cause more bloodletting. Somehow it was meant to be that we just cause more distance in the act of trying to claw our way back into ourselves, wild eyes, teeth clenched, insides rearranged so that the love was suddenly underneath all the fear of sameness, the continuation of discontentment and perpetuated simplicity for two complicated souls. It came down to fuck you's and I hate you and stay the fuck away from me.

And she did, until tonight. I saw her awkward stride and the silhouette of her bad hair and I almost kept driving, but I had asked my friend to be the "voice of the universal wisdom" and asked her to answer my silent question, which was "should I go in" and she said "YES" so I acted in trust and out of spite and sick fascination and territoriality and residual ache in the place she used to live in me. I went in, and I shook and I kept pushing my hair to the side and trying to fold myself into smallness while avoided her shape. Until I got tired of trying not to look, so instead I choose the opposite tact and I stared. Directly at her, uncomfortably. I stared at her breasts the way her shirt was pulling too tightly in some areas and her bad skin and I looked right into her eyes and searched for not only what she was thinking or feeling but what I was experiencing in my own soul-churn. I stared until I found the predominant emotion, which was a familiarity, a love, a knowing that it was never truly as ugly as we made it out to be, but we had to make it so because it needed to end for us to grow.

I walked into her, arms outstretched, and she hugged me back and it was hard, but we did it. Animosity doesn't look good on me and I can't stay in self-righteous anger. I loved you knowing you weren't perfect, and I still do.