Ever since I can remember, I've always wanted to live abroad. Somewhere cold and snowy, where going to the grocery store would mean bundling up in a thick jacket. Somewhere you can walk everywhere and not drench in sweat. Where you can sip your hot latte in a cafe on a pavement and people watch. Where public transportation works and organic stuff don't cost and arm and a leg.
Life presented me exactly that and then took it away. I've been carefully but cautiously inventing a new life far away from here for the past 2 months but that cautious yet elaborate dream life went up in smokes yesterday, simply by a no, sorry kind of email. I'm still processing, I thought that it may be appropriate to cry but somehow the tears didn't come. Maybe later? I tried to rationalize it and even tried to "learn from the experience!" What a bunch of new age crap.
What I need now is to accept that my heart is broken, not to immediately dust myself off and stand up to fight another day. My heart is broken and I need to nurse my poor, broken heart. Even as I type these words my positive inner self is shaking her head and tutting at me. I'm always positive, but I need to take a few minutes to mourn, mmkay?
In this dream life, I was someone else, maybe truer to self than who I am at present. For in dreams we live the most dangerously and with abandon, and I love that woman. She's the girl at the gym with crazy printed tights, she's the one helping old ladies cross the street, who talks to strangers like they are both of the same kind. She can pack her bags and be gone in a jiffy, off to another European city see you folks! This alternate life had existed in my head for so long and had been so badly romanticized that sometimes I get suffocated by all the pink frills and cute bows.
I have had my few minutes to mourn. It may never be truly enough but yet again, that woman isn't dead. Why mourn something that is alive and thriving?
