States Go By

I'm sitting in my room, listening to a train roll by. The horn blows with a sort of melancholy whale, almost as if crying out to those that are near, mournfully sighing into the night a sad song of in-necessity. Progression has it's casualties.

I got into town early. I thought I would be in around 8, but was gladly able to catch an earlier flight (thanks to an unknown co-passenger who watched my Ipad dutifully in Salt Lake City and whom my thanks of coffee apparently did not warrant conversation [I think he was engaged to a nice Morman girl]). My plane landed at 4:15. I had been expecting a cold night and the need for warmth, so when I unexpectedly landed in 70 degree weather, my Ugg boots and layers were a more baggage than necessity. Ironically in CA, I left rain and 45 degree's of hell freezing over. Um, why did I leave CA again?....

I was high on adrenaline and power as I got off the plane. I just heard that my one interview had turned into 3 informational meetings, which meant my $550 plane ticket wasn't a complete waste, and the smell of the metro somehow brought me back to my pre-graduate high of opportunity and health. It was intoxicating and I drank it in like an alcoholic on a three day binge. My sponser would be pissed....

The smell of the metro hit me like a Mac truck. I swooned. Yes, I swooned. Who ever knew that the smell of the metro could make someone actually happy? I'm a sick person.

I got on the train happy as a claim, chattering away on the phone like a school girl. Then, like always, the underground metro had it's way. I was cut off. I stared down at my phone incredulously, as if it had personally offended me. What was I supposed to do now? I had no one to share my euphoria with. The train continued it's lurching march toward Potomac Avenue where I would be staying. The sound of the train against the tracks bringing back many a memory. It could have been two years ago, three years ago, Paris, San Francisco, or DC. They melded together for a moment, reminding me blissfully and irresponsibly of the feeling of possibility and youth. For a mere moment I was once again young, beautiful and unhindered.

Then I opened my eyes, stared into my own reflection and felt the age in my bones. I think I literally heard my ovaries crying out as they slowly died, shriveling up into nothing.

But that wasn't the worst part. After a few moments, as expected, the usual high came down. I looked out the window, and my old stop came up. Foggy Bottom. I heard it called out and I remembered in an instant how I would have felt. I would have been excited, exiting the train and rushing towards the exit, breathlessly waiting for that instant when I would receive signal so I could text or call back to my love, hearing his voice, or receiving his words, knowing all the world was right. God I lived for those moments. Amid the hustle and bustle of the most powerful city in the world, working with it's most powerful inhabitants, working in the most powerful place, and yet my heart... my heart was 3,000 miles away, locked and stored in a the arms of a man that couldn't care less what the most recent polls said. God I loved him. Lord... I still do.

My heart folded like the house of cards that it is. I cried the rest of the way. See, in my deepest parts, as much as I love this town, it will always be second best. Crazy, I know, but it will always be second best to one place, anywhere my the other half of my heart is.

I don't know if he ever knew this, but giving up a career for him was never that hard, in fact, it was a choice I made in complete and total happiness. Later, after he rejected me, it became a fairly unbearable, but before that, it was never that hard. It was almost never a question. He was my heart. The heart was always the most important to me, he helped bring it to life, I loved him thus the choosing him was always the best decision. It was never really a question.

See all my life I was looking for that thing. That one special thing that brought me to life. That one special cause, ministry, career that somehow made my life meaningful. For years I chased down God to fill that spot, and He did. More than I can explain. But somehow, my ex, he was apart of that. We had this sort of love that was... indescribable. I used to say it was what love songs were made of. I had never thought they were true until him. We were so... special.

When things got tough and I moved home, it was as if our connection was lost. Something happened. I know he loved me, I know he wanted to make it work, I know how much he believed in us, just like me... but everything got so confused, so messed up. I wish I could explain it now. I wish I could understand it. I wish I could fix it. Mostly because in truth of truth, my heart still belongs to him. Even 3,000 miles away, trying to plan a future without him, I half a person. I feel a piece of me missing, as though something died that I can't bring back to life without him. But what can I do? He's convinced we are not a match, that there was too much pain, that we were too wrong, that we were never even real....

But somehow, the part of me that loves him, the part of me that believes in him more than I believe in Gingerich, or Huckabee, or Palin, it has no place to go. I know who he was, and my heart and can't ignore it. I want to hate him, but will never be able to. I want to be over him and my head says its time, while my heart, my heart can't seem to be released from bonds of a deep, real love.

I told him before I left I needed to see him. Face to face. No email. I know, probably a bad idea, but I can't help it. To get in a car and drive until I hit another coast, I need to see him one last time, tell him my heart, tell him I know the truth about his, and walk away with my head held high, having honored what I knew as the greatest miracle I have ever known.

I'm sure he will argue with me. I'm sure I will have to stand my ground, remembering my heart knows the truth. That doesn't seem as hard as it would have been a month ago. Maybe it's making the choice to do something proactive with my life, it gives me a sort of courage to believe I wasn't crazy when I loved him and he loved me, and damn it, for if only a moment, he was going to remember too. I carry these memories, these regrets, these wishes, dreams and love around like baggage from another century. For a moment, I need him to see the load.

I know it will change nothing, but I also know I have to. I know it will set me free somehow. It will let me say what I need to say, and hopefully, eventually heal.

I will love him on this coast, or that, nothing is going to change it. But knowing he knows how I feel... It gives me a sort of peace I have been aching for. Then maybe I can pack my car and watch the states go by with a little more ease.