It’s rapidly approaching the two month mark since Ian and I said goodbye in the murky Paris pre-dawn as he sauntered out of my life to catch a flight back to the UK. Directly after his exit, I was rife with that crushing feeling of loss. That feeling lasted for several weeks as I tried to adjust to being single despite the fact that there was someone on the other side of the world with whom I was perfectly capable of having a drama-free and fun relationship. I missed sharing dinner and watching nature documentaries or really bad action films with my friend. I missed my lover (my apologies to TJ for utilizing this term, but that’s the correct usage!).
After a few weeks and dwindling communication from Ian during his overseas adventures, I began to convince myself that he’d been a pleasant distraction but wouldn’t have been viable in the long run. No sense in moping about someone who probably wouldn’t have made you a happy wife! This made the feeling of loss die down to where I barely noticed it. He was now just a fond memory, and I was glad to have shared the experiences we had together.
So there I was being a trooper and happily soldiering onwards after a great time with a wonderful guy who wasn’t meant to be – yay Eva! I was pretty much at the top of Relationship Recovery Mountain, and the climb had been far easier than expected.
That’s when I made it to the peak and had my first look at what lay on the other side. I was expecting a lush, tree-filled valley populated by fabulous single men, but what I saw was… another fucking mountain!
The realization of the secondary mountain was spurred on by a few factors. Firstly, I took a business trip, which lead me to be in a hotel room for the first time since Paris. I’m fully aware that this is a weak connection, but for some reason I found myself sitting on the side of the bed with my heart screaming about how it wished Ian was there. Secondly, I had a dream about Randy from which I awoke being totally stressed (which is much the same way I felt for the better part of our relationship). This made me remember how awesome and easy it was to be with Ian, and this lead to my heart piping up again.
I guess when you’re so wrapped up in someone that at some stage you’re praying that he’ll ask you to join his life adventures so you can quit your job and follow him around the world like a lost puppy, it will take a bit to get over that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not lying in bed crying myself to sleep at night. In fact, I haven’t cried since that morning in Paris. At the same time, there continues to be that nagging feeling of “I wish that…”
A) “he still lived here.”
B) “he would call and profess his love for me.”
C) “he was trying to make plans to see me again to give this a shot.”
D) … I think you’re getting the point.
I’m trying not to berate myself too hard for having a portion of my heart in the clouds on this one. It was the best experience I’ve ever had in a relationship, so I’m guessing a part of me will be warm to the memory of him for a while to come.
In the mean time, I’m going to concentrate on not succumbing to the side of me that wants to rebound by lusting after every reasonably in shape man between the ages of 25 and 35. Listen to your heart Eva, not your… I think you’re getting the point.