The Italian Model (1924) – Mabel Alvarez

So if am writing this, you know am escaping. Escaping to that part of my mind where everything is calm and full of unending tranquility. I am a mess.

These past few months have not been without drama, pain and eye opening realizations. I am beat, from all the confusion, unanswered questions and mental agony. You see, I loved and lost in the most stupid way. I let myself be seduced by mind and what could have been. In my head, I liked him for who he was and what I could have made him to be. He was my perfect project. Perfect enough for me to shape and mold to my desires. And for a while it worked out fine. I was happy, full of imagination and creativity. I rode the horse high and never did I think of once stopping to look back. He was perfect, perfect for me to teach, to cuddle, to kiss and to eventually love. He came with a naivety that tagged at my heart strings, his puppy eyes made me imagine the impossible and his smile, damn his disarming smile, if only I had known it was as cunning as it was beguiling. I was a woman in process and the journey for me had just begun. If only I knew.

Now as I write this, I am in pain. Pain I foolishly inflicted on myself. The signs were all there for me to see such as the random girlfriend mention; the unending visits to uncles and the “new house I need to furnish in November” slip. The clues were all there in my face waiting for me to put the puzzle together but instead, I longed and dreamt. I wished and yearned endlessly. The puzzle kept staring at me, waiting for me to put it together. Finally the pieces are in place and am not in place. I beat myself for not having been able to fit the pieces myself. He is gone and not coming back. No more will I wait expectantly for that beep on the phone signaling a new message, or that phone call just to say hi. No more will I wait up for him to come by and kiss me good night. No more. He has made his choice and it isn’t me. And I am a mess.

All my friends think pining over him is a waste of time and they are right but the heart doesn’t understand that. It just doesn’t wake up one morning and its fine. There are good and bad days. Good days when all you feel is nothing but happiness that you loved and lost and then the bad days creep in, reminding you of what could have been and all you feel is unmentionable longing disguised as hate for him.

Maybe I skipped ahead of myself many times, maybe I thought of what I could have made him and I into and run away with the idea, maybe I could have been more discerning, maybe I could have been more guarded. The maybe scenarios are unending as they are torturous. I am now resigned. Resigned to the fact that I was stupid and a little hasty in my decision to let my guard down, resigned to the fact that sometimes people can be so calculative and manipulative and you end up being caught in the whirlwind of their deception. I am just resigned.

I am moving on as best as I can and as best as I know how. The days are getting easier and impulses to randomly call or text him are getting slower. I am slowly raising my head to the rising sun, a new chapter seared with scars from experience.

It’s getting better.