I’m not sure what happened to our relationship. There was a steady decline, so subtle that we didn’t notice it. Or maybe it was me that was blind, while you were aware of the widening gaps between us. It’s like I see you from a distant fog now. Mine, but loosely so. Just enough to keep the shadows from overwhelming me.

I feel our separation like a layer of thick haze. Detachment and resentment are welling up inside of me, mixed with a desperate longing for you. Whether to curse or kiss you is always my dilemma. To thank God for your presence or to push you away, back to the unreachable spaces you’ve chosen to occupy. Away from us, away from me. Your ambition eclipsing our love. Your steadfast desire for more creating a tunnel vision that leaves me in the cold, wandering, hoping you’ll come back, disappointed that you left in the first place.

How do I survive this? This delicate crushing of my ego, of being rejected, of not being enough. An afterthought of brief meetings to keep the hunger going. Being a ‘responsibility’ and not the center of the thing. How do I survive being last? A woman who is so used to being first. A woman who waits for no man. A woman who would dim her light for you. How do I survive knowing that you wouldn’t do the same?

The answer I’m told, is patience. But we as women, we sit around waiting for a boy to evolve into some man that has to come into his own. Grow into his potential.

So, we sit and we wait while they do selfish, harmful things to us and we’re told to not worry ourselves with dreams we’ve held onto for so long, to bend, bend, bend, to be softer, more accepting of things that don’t make sense, to change. But how long does one wait? When does this light switch of maturity and willingness to grow up come? When we’ve bent so much that we’re broken and we’re questioning why we want this thing in the first place?

Eboni of A Tale Of Two Biddies
Pitched Entry

Image Source: Milk N Honee