Her Motives…

In your sticky leather armchair

Shared by Nathan Lindsay.

I admired her for all she achieved. She grew up nurtured by hostility and bitter disappointments, learning to appreciate the sublime beauty of chaos.To overcome such severe colors and build a life that defied all negative equations was a miracle I was fortunate to marvel over. Her experiences overshadowed the generous choral nature that life offers with a suspicious haze and a shade of guilt. Everyone had an ulterior motive.

When a former boss invited her spend the day with her family at the beach she fretted over why anyone would include her in their company. She wondered if she’d done something wrong or if the motives behind her invite spelled some nefarious outcome. She simply couldn’t resign to the concrete result of her embodiment in other’s lives…that the people she’d formed relationships with truly admired and adored her.

Then there was me. The essence of love I held for her became some abstracted orientation aligning with her past. She could never accept that I simply loved her for who she was. All the romantic grandeur I could bespeak fell short of her recognition. The sum of the aura that equated to her was the space in which my life found light. In the morning my first thoughts were of her. And as the day drew to close…there she was. But her past abstracted an askew interpretation of every expression I delivered.

I don’t really know why she walked out on me, except that I simply didn’t fit into the new life she’d built. As hers began to unfold, mine had dipped. I was unemployed and struggling. She could muster no pride in who I was…she couldn’t showcase me to anyone she knew.

And I was simply a rebound for her. Of that much I’m certain of today.

Her ex-husband had suggested she sell her home at one point while they were married as a way of stretching their finances when they were struggling to rely upon her meager income. She bought the home. She’d earned every corner…every crack…every spread of property. She had acquired and attained something that she could pass on to her own children through a dedicated pursuit to be better than her past. She had done more for her family than her own parents could ever manage for theirs. She surpassed their chaos.

I made one remark in jest while I was unemployed. Her daughter was getting ready to stay with her dad for two weeks around a time when my unemployment was creating problems with both divorce and residence. Pressured, I made a joke at the wrong moment. She was frustrated with me, wanting me to find a place of my own and get my life in order. She was angry, disappointed, and disgusted with who I was. I was lost, afraid, and unsure of how to give her the person she needed me to be with such a small, deficient income. To lighten her mood I said “Hey, can I move in with you in a couple weeks?” I was trying to force a smile, but I could feel the sharp gleaming edge of her anger through the phone. It wasn’t a serious comment.

I think she thought I’d actually planned to move in with her. Its conjecture…it’s a theory. I don’t really know. I know that her ex-husband would’ve sought the advantage and siphoned her with discolored temperament. The reality was that there was no room for me in her house. Even if my life had been running smoothly, the notion of living with her in her home would not have found complexion within the bask of sunny substance.

I had my son. Where would he live? Who’s room would he occupy? There was simply no room in her house for the two of us. There never would be.

My underlying stress our entire tenure was that I needed to earn enough for a new home while providing her with the means to keep all she’d realized for her children. I never thought it fair that our children should ever lose simply because of us. I loved her with all the truth the universe possessed. I admired her…I would never have extorted such a tremendous sacrifice from her. I only wanted an audience. I wanted to be her audience. With her…I felt I belonged for the first time in my life.

And she’ll never know that this was how I’d always felt. I’ll never have closure…only this open and bleeding wound. She simply doesn’t care. I’ll never know exactly why she gave up…or why she simply let me fall so terribly far. I don’t get to know.

But this is all theory.

And I was never real for her…so, in turn, this was all heartbreaking fiction.

Do you love to write? If you have a story, article, post about dating or love, please Share your Heartbeat! We would love you feature your writing.

Thank you!