With a cold knife pressing into my neck, about to draw blood, I couldn’t afford to deliberate what brought my adversary – and love of my life – to act so acutely. I suppose, in my girlfriend’s mind, she required the upper hand in our most recent dispute and determined, perhaps wistfully, that whatever ends justified the means. Like any story worth hearing, it’s best if I backtrack to the beginning.
After reaching the summit of a verdant mountain top, I confessed my love to the most alluring woman I have ever known. Her impractical jest, cunning flirtation, and conspicuous yearning for worlds unseen made her a perfectly dangerous confidant. The two weekend trips we took together were the best times of my life. With zero reluctance, the L word was exclaimed on our third excursion. With this, we agreed to carry out a long distance relationship since she didn’t live in NYC.
The next six months eagerly passed by as we remained content; I couldn’t say the same for the following year. Naturally, she carried burdens that were, at times, unbearable. With a past history that included sexual assault, anger issues, depression, and a suicide attempt, I felt as though I needed to be her anchor, and hold her far from those grievous times. Anyone who has ever been in a similar boat knows that this is
an impossible no easy task.
“Given love, the impossible becomes what you do”
Despite all we shared in common, she was impetuous, impracticably irritable, and shortsighted. I didn’t care and loved her anyway. Aren’t you suppose to endure another person’s imperfections so that you can fully come to terms with your own? Think of it as a literal “labor of love.”
That’s what I used to tell myself.
-Single Guy in NYC