“Perhaps this is what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching.”
(Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
He was gone.
She always knew, of course, that he would leave to follow his dream – he’d told her that right from the start. He never said he’d stay because of her … and even if he had, she would have told him to go anyway. This was something he had to do, and though they’d talked of her following him one day, for now he had to do this alone, to find himself, to find his path. It was a difficult time, an emotional time, when he needed space to prepare for the journey ahead. She found herself caught in the no-mans-land between the life he had and the life he was going to, and as her vulnerability grew, so did the distance between them.
She knew how it would end … yet she loved him anyway. The waiting game moved to a new chapter, one where she did not know if she would ever see him again. His leaving broke her heart.
The difference this time, she reasoned, was that she knew she would be fine, she had survived this before. She knew how it would play out, the journey from loss to hope. She was stronger now. She would not let it pull her down to the depths of despair, fear, longing and sadness she had felt before. She would not give it the head space. She would be kind to her soul, her very essence of being, and laugh again. She would accept that he had gone, and live her life to the full, without him. That was her plan.
But her heart did not hear. There is no short cut from loss to hope. Days of despair and fear cannot be shortened to just one day, sadness and longing do not give in to hope without a fight. He had taken a piece of her with him, and so, like before, heartbreak wrapped its icy fingers round her soul, and she lived her life as best she knew how, while she waited for the thaw.