Fool for you

“What?! That real, that deep, that burning, that amazing unconditional, inseparable love. That feel like forever, that always emotional but still exceptional love Can’t nobody tell me nothing it is what it is. And any mistake you make I, I just may forgive Right now, right now at this very moment I still love her like I loved her then I love her in and out and up and down and ’round and ’round and over and over again So rare they swear that you just don’t exist And It’s only one person I can think of that makes me feel like this And I’m a fool, such a fool for you!” Cee-Lo

Love Letter to the Emotionally Unavailable Man

Before I met you, I never knew my skies were cloudy. The forecast forever spoke of streaming blue without a hint of white marring the horizon. But your sun shine arrived in a flurry of brilliance shedding light on the fog blemishing a celestial sphere. Warm fragments of the brightest star evaporating every trace of a filmy mist. Lazing in your heat, I never imagined the return of winter. But like all good things, my season came to an end and I was unprepared.

Standing still in my tankini elements of frost inhabiting pores opened by the swelter of your cocoon. I refuse the blanket validating the shimmering snow fall. Hypothermia kicks in as I stare longingly at the sky, willing the return of the sun. Sunlight, Sunbright, don’t you miss me each night?

Apparently, you’re in a more frustrating predicament than I, being loved fully by me but only wielding a tepid response in return. “Aint nobody gonna care enough to catch your fall”. Still desirous of my attention and affection, you worked towards capturing an unknown beauty. You presented yourself as ‘on the market’, but I ignored the sign on the manikin labeled “For Display Only”. I didn’t see you as flawed or in rough draft, I liked you just the way you came— in a plain paper bag, no ribbon or attached card.

You perceive your communication as effectively describing your current status, but the words unspoken highlighted in actions over time verbalized a commitment in a dialect all my own.

A tarnished blanket, I enjoyed every rip and tear enticing patchwork cover-ups to mend like new. I wanted that same quilted blanket to detail a history’s past and a potential future. And though you enjoyed the coziness of the downy fabric, soon again your personal warmth would fray the edges.

Here’s where your perception and the reality are inconsistent. You thought I wanted to completely change the blanket you brought with you, to purchase a new set to match the furniture of the house you moved into. I sit back knowing that was never the case. I was simply tired of the throws, and the afghans, and the fleeces overcrowding and limiting my space on your body. But you couldn’t decide which you wanted on which day. Never having enough, I was left with the blanket you shed like the exoskeleton of another failed relationship: you found another way to sheath your chill.

“Emotional unavailability is real” and so is the emotional damage residing after loving these “unavailable” men. And though the end was nasty and disrespectful, I still find myself wanting that summer’s heat.

Upon lighting the fire, blazes of heat will invade blue tipped limbs, hauntingly I still feel cold. Reminiscing on the homey torridity of your arms; dreaming of a fullness replete in satisfaction. I still want nothing more than the particles you have to offer.

This doesn’t mean that I don’t love myself or value myself, it simply means that light is better than dark, hot better than cold. And once you experience lambency you don’t want to go back to temperate, and you’re sure as shooting gun shy of incandescent.

Craving a ride, a movie night, a dinner with friends, a late-night gab fest of incoherent syllables: I thought I found what I was missing but lost it before the contract of ownership was complete.

Knowing everyday what I lost, I can’t even quantify in dollars and cents what you gained. I gave you most of my all, and settled for your less. You say that I gave the green light to proceed, leaving you free to act in the innate ‘good dude’ fashion of your character— How then do you expect me to not respond in the primitive loving manner that first enthralled your awareness? You start the good morning/ good night text and I give you the expected amount of raunchy to continue your interest. You check on me when I’m sick and I feed every one of your hungers making sure the pains of the world never enter the sanctuary I created and you happily inhabited. I initially question each one of our outings, bemoan every introduction knowing that these places will hold memories and can never be revisited, the mass influx of names and faces stockpiled in chests have to be buried without markers because they, too, hold colossal weight in our narrative.

Before every woman falls into oblivion, she sends out her probing signals. She asks directly hoping that you understand her tone and abandon the sinking ship.  The “I miss you” precludes the “I love you”. The silence denotes a vacillating effort to find solace in your terminally cold embrace. And she hesitates, demands a break. It’s when you make declarations on the value of the friendship, fighting the separation; when your words and actions align forming a kingdom of commitment. And though I’ve already met your family and most of your friends, it’s when you ask me to live with you that I believe in an endless expanse of time.

Where is your emotional unavailability here? Point it out please, beloved, and let me eat my words. And while you take pride in making sure I enjoy your company, I will do my best to remove the walls that originally guarded my heart against your foolishness. I’ll open up with stories of past hurts and future fears. I’ll share my hidden anomaly— infertility, while reciting the baby’s names that I planned for eons. You will combine your preference with my list and consider the blessing of adoption. I’ll feel free in your presence knowing my barrenness isn’t a deterrent. You, who consistently mention the veritable comfort of your seed from my womb, and for nanoseconds I get caught up in the fantasy and ignore the doctors. Can you tell me, in all of your emotionally unavailable trysts, do you plan children with each of your paramours and find glimpses of offspring in the crowd?

Do you plan vacations or getaways? Do you use “we” not only in our conversations but in your chats with others? When do ‘I’ and ‘Me’ become synonymous with ‘We’? You wake up one day where two antonyms have unified, check mate where one opponent has to forfeit to save face.

No, mon chere, I didn’t want to cure your disease, I just didn’t understand the game. I didn’t understand that I saw, accepted the best and worst of you, yet I’m still insufficient for falling. I didn’t know that blistering heat leaves you with sunburn— I’m black duh!

20, 30, 40 years from now I’ll still be loving hard; loving in a way that cloaks you, shields you, provides the warmth as your bright star starts to dim. And if it’s not you who ends up in my arms, then let’s hope that the next man appreciates all that I have to offer.

Never forget that I loved you or how I loved you. Remember that it’s not a good idea to do this to the next woman.