My Last Relationship Taught Me

We paint pictures of people. We’re our own Picasso, painting cubist abstract faces of those sitting in front of us. 

That’s why muses often become lovers. 
The artist paints and molds and shapes the muse into his liking. How could you not fall in love with your own creation?  

I once texted a boy who lived across the sea. We texted for a month after I left. He was a romantic. Then one day, we picked up the phone and greeted each other with our names. He pronounced mine wrong. Although he forgot my name, I didn’t forget his. But I did forget how he sounded like. Curt. Brisk. Rough like a brush. 

Broke my illusion of him really.

When I went through my break up last year, my mom’s friend told me that when we break up with someone, we’re not just grieving the loss of that person. We’re also grieving the loss of our hopes and dreams for and with that person; our dreams of a fairy tale future, our hopes of what they could have been. I mean, isn’t that why we all hold on just a little longer? Hoping they’ll fit into the image we’ve created for them? 

When I looked down, my hands were smeared with paint. Yet he was of an entirely different color. 

In that instance I learned two things:

1. If you can’t tolerate someone’s flaws, be kind and walk away. 
2. The only thing you should ever be painting is yourself—or a canvas. 

And that, was a rude awakening. 


                                                                                                                         My Last Relationship Taught Me 
                                                                                                                          Tuesday, December 28th, 2021

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