The Last Lie

There was a small blip on my radar yesterday and the day before of Martin.  And I heard from someone who would know, of one last lie he told me.  Did it surprise me?  No.  Did it disappoint me? Of course.  I left for England last year September 8 and stayed through October 10.  So it will have been a year in about two weeks.  A whole year!  In some ways that fact seems impossible and in other ways it feels like its been a lifetime.

Even after an entire year…his lies are still bubbling up to the surface.  Incredible.  I really can attest that time heals all wounds.  Because finding out about this last one did not make me cry.  It didn’t cause me to get particularly angry  or embittered.  I mean, yes finding out was upsetting on many levels but I didn’t hold onto the anger.  More, it was kind of the last straw of hope being blown out the window that there was anything good that came from us being together.

It’s sort of like when I was separated from my husband and I found out from my neighbor that she had seen him in a car smoking.  I hate cigarette smoking.  I think it is disgusting and unhealthy.  As soon as she said that a flood of memories clicked on light bulbs in my head.  Times I had kissed him and he tasted different.  Times I had gotten in his car and said something about it smelling like smoke but was dismissed.  Time and time again when I KNEW but didn’t let myself KNOW.

When you love someone, that is what you do.  You love them so much you want to believe that they are not capable of the bad your heart fears for good reason could be true.

Once I did know that about my ex, I knew that I was emotionally done with the fight.

Today learning about Martin’s last lie gave me that same resolve.  I’ve been done with him romantically for nearly a year.  Now I am done emotionally.  I want and wish I could erase the feelings I entrusted to him.  I can’t.  But I can replace every memory I have of him with new ones.

We used to go to Dave and Busters.  He called it Bert and Ernie’s to be funny.  I’ve been there several times this year and I have really good new memories.  I used to get sad because I would see him in every room of my house and car and life.  But as the walls might remember what happened…I’m starting to forget.

All I see now is what’s in front of me.  Which is now usually my Harry.  Who captivates my attention like nothing else ever.  I see his eyes, and his smile, and I am completely 100% devoted to him.

Tonight we were laughing a lot.  Every single time we connect it is different but amazingly wonderful.  He is in San Diego and called me before he went to sleep.  It’s great to talk to him when he’s sleepy.  He gets really mushy and sweet.  He told me he wanted to help me replace the memories by taking me to England.  One of his favorite places on earth.  And I really think I could do that.  In fact I think it would be healthy for me.  Because right now England=Martin.  And that gives Martin way too much credit.  He is not a whole country.  He is a mere blip on my radar and a false blip at that.  He is part of my past but holds not one piece of my heart.

I don’t know when or if we will go.  But it is a nice thought.  Because every trip I ever made to England brought out the sick feeling in my gut.   One time we went for a drive and we climbed over this gate and walked down onto a field.  I didn’t know where he was taking me.  It was my first trip there.  We sat down looking across a long meadow where just beyond sat a housing tract.  He pointed into the distance and said, “See that one.  That is my house.”  And I said, “You mean your wife’s house.”  Correcting him, and he said, “Well, yes I own half of it.”  And we sat there looking at it for a while and talking.

Thinking back now I’m horrified that happened.  He probably lived with her at the time or at least was in and out.  All the stuff he said he had placed in storage that he got so upset about when I asked to see it, was really sitting in her garage.  Well, his own garage.  How brazen he was to take me just close enough to see it…his real world…but hide the truth from me.

Every single trip brought with it tension because he did not swing the door wide open on his life,  like I had done for him.  He was extremely easy to agitate because he was nervous of being caught.

But it’s not England’s fault.  It’s his own fault.  So why should I punish said country for her countryman’s flaws.  And why should I allow myself to feel a victim, forever banning myself away from the scary memories as if they were monsters who might assault me if my feet return to her soil?  That would give him way too much power.  No.  I won’t let him rob me from the beauty I saw and grew to love.

back again to what is true
back again to you
cobblestone paths that leave high heeled ankles weary after walking blocks
low-ceiling musty english pubs filled with smiles, stories and smelly dogs

back again to you
ancient stone buildings who refuse to act their age but forever smugly boast of their centuries
endless damp green moors trodden by ponies in star filled dark night skies

no lies from you who can only be what you are
no promise broken, no nervous laugh from a fearful man at children who could and would reveal the truth

back again to you
rugged black cliffs watching pilgrims, kings, pirates and me leave and then return only to leave again and again
buttressed to reach high into the heavens looking up I sit in your pews, I pray, and have been healed

no death found by your wind, rain, and cold
no piercing pain in my heart from an impotent ghostly facade


back again to you I come again but new
and filled and whole
to embrace, to love, to enjoy what is true

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