Beauty for ashes? Here’s hoping

I started this post nearly two years ago. As you read, you will realize that I never finished it. I will say this, though: it’s strange to find these un-published, unfinished words that I wrote two years ago – right on the tail end of one of the worst times of my life. So far. Maybe I will continue this story. Maybe not.

Heartache. It seems that several of the few posts that I have written in the past year have discussed one disappointment or the other. As much as I would like to declare that trend “over,” I’m afraid that the worst yet has come upon me.

Honestly, this situation is what has brought me back to my blog. I need a place to get all of these thoughts and feelings out. And I need to process. Though my writing is often scattered and incomplete, it still helps me manage my thoughts better than allowing them to tumble around inside of my head.

About 3 months ago, I laid eyes on a young man who was quite new to the United States. I immediately found him extremely handsome. Immediately, I also decided that I would not entertain the possibility of trying to gain his attention or even trying to be more than a (very) casual acquaintance. The fact is, due to the fact that he is a member of the community in which I am highly involved, it would be absolutely necessary for our paths to cross on a somewhat regular basis.

Fast forward about 6 weeks. As mentioned, our paths did cross often, but I continued not to treat him in any particularly special way. In any case one day, he came to me, searching through his wallet. He said he had a note for me. The next week, he helped me carry some things to my car. A few days later, he asked if I had read his letter. Excuse me? To which letter are you – oh, yes! The one you must have slipped in my bag the other day… Of course, I hadn’t seen it, so he “demanded” that I go find the bag and read the letter.

When I went home later, I did just what he asked. I searched this huge bag – twice. Finally, nestled deep in a front pocket, I found a sliver of paper. With a note. Written in his language. Which does not even use the Roman alphabet. Since I know a little of his language, I was able to make out a few words here and there. Finally, I had to call on a trusted friend to translate for me. It turned out that this sliver of paper contained his declaration of love for me. Whoa. Love? Oh, and an apology for the event that I might already be in a relationship.

The next day, I went to discuss this with him. I had some reservations, but was still somewhat interested. Long story even longer – a few days later, we began a relationship. I was amazed at how well we fit together. We had some wonderful time together. To be honest, we had kicked around the “m” word. Yes, THAT “m” word. We didn’t even kick it around, we talked about it in great detail. We had become part of each others lives and had no plans for that to change. Ever.

Then. He started feeling restless. He went from wanting to spend lots of time with me (which I LOVE) to resenting not having enough time with his friends. Because of some of my lifelong insecurities, I was not as flexible as I really should have been. Well…in his frustration, he took it upon himself to stand me up on a variety of occasions. (I have learned from some trustworthy sources, that changing plans without notification is acceptable in his culture.)

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