Dancing in the Ashes of Secondhand Dreams

Othello was crazy, but what about her?

She asks herself why. Why she continues holding on when it obviously still hurts her, deeply; though not as deeply as before, nor for the same reasons. All in the name of friend.ship?! Though he says it is more, she feels the friend.ship, by definition, is nothing more than a farce, a charade; superficial and transient, at best. But she still has no idea why. Perhaps her heart simply cannot fathom life with him completely absent. Without his smile, his laughter, his semi-presence. Yes, he still cares, in his own empty, unfamiliar way. But it’s not enough. She’s trying to be a trooper, but it’s not easy. Maybe that’s asking too much.

Would it be selfish or less than mature of her to just bite the bullet and cut all ties? If only she could erase all memories of their past! Sometimes she thinks it would be easier to just walk away and never look back. Perhaps she’s right. The books all tell her that, whenever possible, it’s best to detach in love, but by all means, detach. She still befriends him, but at too high a price, some say. One that her heart may be unwilling, perhaps unable to pay. “Screw the friend.ship!” they tell her. But she’s not so sure. All she knows is that sometimes the tears flow… still… her heart a mere casualty in his wake. That she must stop dancing in the ashes and somehow find her way.

During happier times, he referred to their relationship as “romancing the ideal.” Did he not know that when he forced her to ask him to walk away, he took with him what little life and hope she had? She had foolishly conned herself into believing that he would make “the dream” a reality. A dream she never really owned.

Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?

© 2005 Lynne J.
All rights reserved.
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Originally penned on January 11, 2005.