Back in the 14th century, Persian poet Hafiz advised us to “stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive”. Today, British poet and philosopher David Whyte explains how heartbreak is “an indication of our sincerity: in a love relationship, in a life’s work, in trying to learn a musical instrument, in the attempt to shape a better more generous self. Heartbreak is the beautifully helpless side of love and affection and is [an] essence and emblem of care… Heartbreak has its own way of inhabiting time and its own beautiful and trying patience in coming and going”.
I like to talk to my ex: the one who taught me reciprocated love and left me in pieces. I remain fearless and vulnerable. I have no desire to internalise and disregard the truth in it. I seem to suffer more if I suppress my inner workings as opposed to forgetting ego and just being truthful.
I like to tell him the feelings I had back then, still ascend, and I sob as I cover myself with an invisible blanket of fragility and sincerity. I like to tell him the warmth of his smile and loving gaze, of his hands holding my body and of his unshaven skin up against my face keep me warm at night. I thank him for making me feel as alive as I had ever felt at a time where my world was numbing. I find it humbling I am interwoven in his very fabric and he in mine.
My love for him fills the room with radiating light and comforts me in solidarity when traveling. He spoons me in bed, in my Moscow apartment; even though he is living his life separately in Melbourne. I never feel alone and I no longer seek to be accepted and understood. These days, I get so much from imparting my perspective, my loving nature and lively spirit to people who have not discovered such things within themselves. I love the self-gratitude I get from sharing my life with others. It is no longer only about what I need and want. I speak of fulfillment, not of this dark emptiness which I once drowned in.
Even if he did not stay, I cannot punish him for helping me find the value myself and my choices. I cannot forget how we would naturally become something so fucking beautiful, it was beyond comprehension. Think about it: the inception of no longer knowing your feelings, your logic, what is real, what is important; when Dali’s imagination becomes more real to you than this.
Irrespective of the heartbreak he caused me, he gave me this positive outlook from the deep love we shared. I could easily escape the past and close the gates on our story and on him being a part of me; but this would be deluding the joys that came with it. Joys that you can still carry with you which are used as miracle cures. Why would I not thank him every day for being the most precious gift?
When you love someone, there is nothing to forgive. Nothing to be bitter about. To love them is to accept their imperfections and accept the reasons why you cannot be together. When we each find another love, I will still thank his Mother for creating something so unbelievably divine. I will still thank the crappy situation in which we met. I will still thank the heartbreak for what it has given me.
Remembering him keeps me expressing the rawness of my emotions, keeps me from finding the solidarity discomforting and it sensitises me to the present. I am fulfilled with a kind of simple living. Any scratch of selflessness received I appreciate tenfold. I constantly find strength in my abilities. All of this from what people view as trauma and a closed door.
John Green says “what a treacherous thing it is to believe that a person is more than a person”. I find him an idiot: a man who does not see the true value in relationships from the people that form them. Then again, he seems to religiously follow the joy of suffering over just joy, as many of us do. People cry in despair realising that love and associated heartbreak never leaves them. And I ask, why would you want it to? Have you realised the joys you can put on repeat, instead of the sorrows? Do you acknowledge what you have gained and learnt? Have you really loved and been loved?