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Nov. 2nd, 2004 10:01 pmI just found out my ex-boyfriend cut his considerably long hair REALLY short, and donated it to locks of love.
Which is exactly what he tried to stop me from doing, a few years ago. We argued about it; he said he could "never do something like that", because of the magical power of giving one's hair to strangers, and he was extremely superstitious about it. I did think about it. I also didn't let it stop me from donating 16 inches that New Year's after we broke up. 16 inches of the last 20-odd years of my life, woven in a long thick brown braid.
(It helped that the time I spent with him was in that hair somewhere... I was almost...relieved... to give it away...)
And now he turns 30 and lops it all off. Clean shaven, too. I saw a picture. It gave me a weird feeling, to see him so... naked. I can't honestly say I like it, on him. His face looks too babyish, and round. All his facade of wisdom is gone. He still has intense eyes, but... they look out of place, a young soul trying too hard to be an old soul, or an old soul who is somehow not as mature as they want to be. He always did prefer resting on the laurels of his potential rather than applying his focus to gain results. His nose is too impudent, challenging without understanding, his mouth is smaller than I remember... thinner lips, drawn up into his characteristic boyish smirk that is intended to give an air of mysterious knowing.
He always smirks like that, his lips pressed together, so that you will get curious and have to come closer to get him to open his mouth. Like Pandora's Box.
It's funny, the things I still remember, after all this time. It's probably because I fell for all his tricks once...Head over heels, oh yes. I was that girl. Defended him to all naysayers (and there were SO many...) I really believed in him, young naive thing that I was, blinded by the power of first love...
But still, I can't completely discount that love, though, for my being young and naive... the truth is, if he hadn't hurt me so bad that my most vivid memories of him now are almost always bad ones, like crying every time I hung up the phone with him for the last six months of our relationship, or having sex with him while staring up at that goddamn photograph tacked to the ceiling above our bed, or the night I laid on the floor for hours, nearly paralyzed with despair, tears falling from my eyes and running down my face into the carpet but not really moving or crying actively because I was sure my heart was going to slow to a stop any moment, and I was ready to die... Or the two times he asked me to choose between convenience and a child's life... Or crumbling into a little ball on the bathtub floor alone while the shower washed my blood and my sins down the drain and somehow i was still a dirty used whore....
If memories like that hadn't become the majority of my emotional associations with him... I would have stayed, and loved him, who knows how many more years?
I would have stayed and tried to build a life with him, continuing to try to reach him through the thick layer of scars on his heart... I thought I had gotten through, then, but I was wrong. But I believe we were so close. He was beginning to heal. I was (and I don't say this to brag, but just in hindsight) an ideal tool of Love... if we had had more time, we could have worked through a lot of things. I was a perfectly pure love to him- I had no malice, no baggage, no reason to doubt the power of love, no reason to doubt him, and he did not realize how good I would have been to him, how much I cared, how strong of a defense I was for him against the world simply because I WAS so very blindly accepting. Completely love-blind. Like God, or some people's vision of a Loving, pure Jesus--i don't mean I'm like, divine or anything, but that I didn't see his sins, because of my love for him, you know? And that was the fairest shake anyone had ever given him.
I loved him with Eros AND Agape. I believe, in hindsight, it might have healed him eventually. But he broke me too quick. The benevolent will of my soul couldn't cope with the pain of my mortal form. The pain was worse, the crime against me was the worse, because I was so... blank, or pure, or whatever you want to call that-- it hurt me worse because I never saw it coming, never expected true love to reap betrayal as a reward, and had no frame of reference for how to deal with it. And I was pretty destroyed by it.
Wow, I'm totally digressing. Where was I?
Oh yes. The haircut. He has none of the.... "the Look", now, that attracted me to him in the first place. But then, people like us don't do things like this for aesthetic value.
What happened, that he lopped it all off? My "druid", my pagan drama queen....?
I guess he conveniently forgot about his rather staunch feelings on the subject. *LOL* ...or time must've changed his mind (when he "discovered" Locks of Love and it became "his" idea)...
Well, well then... it is not an easy thing to close the book on such a whirlwind of a chapter as the past you've suffered, so I suppose it is not right of me to be completely catty here... And you refused my birthday greetings sent via third party, telling me I should give them to you in person, yet you should know that is not only physically impossible right now, but also damn unlikely, even if it was.
I had to close my own book at some point. Though I do go back and riff through the pages every now and again.
I don't know why I even thought to send salutations- it was a moment of sentimental weakness, perhaps, or maybe I was just feeling particularly magnanimous. I don't think you were actually silly enough to have taken it to mean we're all buddy-buddy now, and you should know that I don't respond well to hooks.
Even so, I have been thinking of you lately, in a few solemn moments, as I suppose I always will, here and there throughout my life. So here's the birthday greeting I might have sent you, if I felt comfotable speaking to you openly anymore. Which I don't. So let it be recorded only here, and in the akashic records, where you'll never see it, except maybe in dreams, or after you die.
Here's to you, Wolf, father of my children. You survived to 30, and you really didn't think you would. Not many other people did either. Some people hoped you wouldn't.
Here's to your next 30 years changing that. Here's to the next 30 years being more productive, more eye-opening, more soul-deepening, and more wisdom-gathering than the last. May you learn what it is to be a friend, and not a messiah. May you never lead another woman to a bad decision. Here's to finding real love; may the gods give your faithless ass another chance.
And Here's to you figuring out what to do with it this time.
You're too good of a person to be so bad of a person.
Maybe your hair needed to go.
I really hope you make it; maybe next time we can meet as something other than battling clue-by-fours splintering ourselves on each others' corners.
Which is exactly what he tried to stop me from doing, a few years ago. We argued about it; he said he could "never do something like that", because of the magical power of giving one's hair to strangers, and he was extremely superstitious about it. I did think about it. I also didn't let it stop me from donating 16 inches that New Year's after we broke up. 16 inches of the last 20-odd years of my life, woven in a long thick brown braid.
(It helped that the time I spent with him was in that hair somewhere... I was almost...relieved... to give it away...)
And now he turns 30 and lops it all off. Clean shaven, too. I saw a picture. It gave me a weird feeling, to see him so... naked. I can't honestly say I like it, on him. His face looks too babyish, and round. All his facade of wisdom is gone. He still has intense eyes, but... they look out of place, a young soul trying too hard to be an old soul, or an old soul who is somehow not as mature as they want to be. He always did prefer resting on the laurels of his potential rather than applying his focus to gain results. His nose is too impudent, challenging without understanding, his mouth is smaller than I remember... thinner lips, drawn up into his characteristic boyish smirk that is intended to give an air of mysterious knowing.
He always smirks like that, his lips pressed together, so that you will get curious and have to come closer to get him to open his mouth. Like Pandora's Box.
It's funny, the things I still remember, after all this time. It's probably because I fell for all his tricks once...Head over heels, oh yes. I was that girl. Defended him to all naysayers (and there were SO many...) I really believed in him, young naive thing that I was, blinded by the power of first love...
But still, I can't completely discount that love, though, for my being young and naive... the truth is, if he hadn't hurt me so bad that my most vivid memories of him now are almost always bad ones, like crying every time I hung up the phone with him for the last six months of our relationship, or having sex with him while staring up at that goddamn photograph tacked to the ceiling above our bed, or the night I laid on the floor for hours, nearly paralyzed with despair, tears falling from my eyes and running down my face into the carpet but not really moving or crying actively because I was sure my heart was going to slow to a stop any moment, and I was ready to die... Or the two times he asked me to choose between convenience and a child's life... Or crumbling into a little ball on the bathtub floor alone while the shower washed my blood and my sins down the drain and somehow i was still a dirty used whore....
If memories like that hadn't become the majority of my emotional associations with him... I would have stayed, and loved him, who knows how many more years?
I would have stayed and tried to build a life with him, continuing to try to reach him through the thick layer of scars on his heart... I thought I had gotten through, then, but I was wrong. But I believe we were so close. He was beginning to heal. I was (and I don't say this to brag, but just in hindsight) an ideal tool of Love... if we had had more time, we could have worked through a lot of things. I was a perfectly pure love to him- I had no malice, no baggage, no reason to doubt the power of love, no reason to doubt him, and he did not realize how good I would have been to him, how much I cared, how strong of a defense I was for him against the world simply because I WAS so very blindly accepting. Completely love-blind. Like God, or some people's vision of a Loving, pure Jesus--i don't mean I'm like, divine or anything, but that I didn't see his sins, because of my love for him, you know? And that was the fairest shake anyone had ever given him.
I loved him with Eros AND Agape. I believe, in hindsight, it might have healed him eventually. But he broke me too quick. The benevolent will of my soul couldn't cope with the pain of my mortal form. The pain was worse, the crime against me was the worse, because I was so... blank, or pure, or whatever you want to call that-- it hurt me worse because I never saw it coming, never expected true love to reap betrayal as a reward, and had no frame of reference for how to deal with it. And I was pretty destroyed by it.
Wow, I'm totally digressing. Where was I?
Oh yes. The haircut. He has none of the.... "the Look", now, that attracted me to him in the first place. But then, people like us don't do things like this for aesthetic value.
What happened, that he lopped it all off? My "druid", my pagan drama queen....?
I guess he conveniently forgot about his rather staunch feelings on the subject. *LOL* ...or time must've changed his mind (when he "discovered" Locks of Love and it became "his" idea)...
Well, well then... it is not an easy thing to close the book on such a whirlwind of a chapter as the past you've suffered, so I suppose it is not right of me to be completely catty here... And you refused my birthday greetings sent via third party, telling me I should give them to you in person, yet you should know that is not only physically impossible right now, but also damn unlikely, even if it was.
I had to close my own book at some point. Though I do go back and riff through the pages every now and again.
I don't know why I even thought to send salutations- it was a moment of sentimental weakness, perhaps, or maybe I was just feeling particularly magnanimous. I don't think you were actually silly enough to have taken it to mean we're all buddy-buddy now, and you should know that I don't respond well to hooks.
Even so, I have been thinking of you lately, in a few solemn moments, as I suppose I always will, here and there throughout my life. So here's the birthday greeting I might have sent you, if I felt comfotable speaking to you openly anymore. Which I don't. So let it be recorded only here, and in the akashic records, where you'll never see it, except maybe in dreams, or after you die.
Here's to you, Wolf, father of my children. You survived to 30, and you really didn't think you would. Not many other people did either. Some people hoped you wouldn't.
Here's to your next 30 years changing that. Here's to the next 30 years being more productive, more eye-opening, more soul-deepening, and more wisdom-gathering than the last. May you learn what it is to be a friend, and not a messiah. May you never lead another woman to a bad decision. Here's to finding real love; may the gods give your faithless ass another chance.
And Here's to you figuring out what to do with it this time.
You're too good of a person to be so bad of a person.
Maybe your hair needed to go.
I really hope you make it; maybe next time we can meet as something other than battling clue-by-fours splintering ourselves on each others' corners.
