When she told me that she was leaving me, it hit me stone
cold hard, not quite dead, but dying, and trying to hold on to
that faint glimmer of love memory before it was lost and
gone forever. Buried like some lost treasure, continually sought
but never found, until it fades from surety and enters the nebulous
realm of fairy dust and tales and assumes a mantle of mythical
proportions, like never never land, leaving one to question whether
it was ever really real at all.
Some say lost love is just like that, never land and fairy dust,
ephemeral but real, just waiting for some intrepid explorer to
rediscover the faded jewel, and awaken it from it’s slumbers.
I hope they are right. I hope I still have a chance to rekindle the
flame.
Like fairy dust, hope is nebulous, forever under assault by the
harsh fact realities of this world. What should I do to win her back?
Should I call her even though she asked me not to? Did she really
mean that? Would calling her make things better or worse? Should
I implore her friends to intercede for me? What about her family?
You see, I still had some hope, but it was tenuous at best. I really did
not know where to turn. Every possibility seemed to open the door to the unthinkable. What if it was really really over? What if I did everything I could think of, but it still just wasn’t enough? What if the unthinkable became my permanent reality?
Well, I knew that I needed help. I needed answers. I needed to say just the right things, I needed to do just the right things.
Then, I received the book The Magic Of Making Up.
I still don’t know who the sender was, but I am forever grateful. Somebody recognized their pain in me.
I can truly say that I never gave up all hope, and maybe that’s what it
really takes. I think that my hope opened up the door to a new reality, a
door to new possibilities. In retrospect, I think that hope gave me strength
and the book gave me answers. I know that I needed both of those things.
Now I get what I truly desperately wanted all along.
A happy ending…
