The other day, Ida contacted me, out of the blue. It startled me to learn how much she hasn’t changed and how much I changed. She wanted to know what was new, what changed and what I was doing with my life. So I told her. I don’t know, it wasn’t in an attempt to repair what happened because I’m over that, but I changed a lot and she’s still in the same gloomy place that she’s been in November. She returned the puppy that she got from the breeder, she left her job, lives with her parents still. She wanted a way out and she expected me to give it to her but I won’t return to that gloomy place.
What I had with Ida was a fire. It burnt high and strong for as long as everything fell into place, but the day that the fire got out of control, she left the fireplace and abandoned me there, to stir it to life again. I don’t want to have to care of that by myself.
What I have with Collin is different. It’s us both sitting around the fire, stirring it together. It’s us admitting that we’re not here to tame the other, but to learn to play with both fire and water. It’s me planning our trip to my parents’, wishing we get to see the colours of the mountains around Charlevoix, and it’s him saying he doesn’t want to go horseback riding, but wishes to have a horse carriage drive us. It’s us knowing we don’t have much time together but wanting to do the best of it.
And most of all, and that’s the part that was missing with Ida, it’s the faith we have in each other, the strength that’s oh so big when we stand side by side in front of a project. My mother told me she didn’t understand how a long-distance relationship could be so strong and I couldn’t explain it.
It just is.
And I’m blessed with this relationship and I’m grateful for it.
(R, that song killed me, thank you again)
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