Your face hard and cold.  Like slate.  Like stone.  Shocking.  Your kind, beautiful face.  The face I knew so well.  Knew with my eyes, my mouth, my hands.  Your face.  Closed and hard and cold.  The light that used to greet me.  Gone.  Completely gone.  And I wonder; do I deserve this?  This casual cruelty.  Did I make this happen?  Or is this just how this is?  No part of you is mine anymore.  Not even kindness.   Just memory, and a certain rhythm, and words that ambush me.  And I find I am sad all over again.  With unexpected loss.  And so all the things I had hoped to say, all the questions I finally had the courage to to ask, they dry up and drift away.


22 thoughts on “Gone

  1. Rox says:

    Loss is such an apt word for the feeling that comes with losing someone. The total absence of everything that they were, and a them-shaped hole left in their place.

    That hole never goes away, but eventually you can make new spaces in that heart of yours, filled with other things that make you notice the hole a bit less each day.

    I wish I could offer some sort of answer or comfort, but for now, I can at least offer a dancing otter.


    • Dolce says:

      I do love me an otter.

      Ag, Rox. You know what? My heart is in a good place. Just wasn’t expecting the coldness. But it shouldn’t really be completely unexpected. In a way, I deserve it. Just hoped things might be different.

  2. daisyfae says:

    hard to move forward without those occasional glances back over your shoulder.

    and dancing otters rock….

    • Dolce says:

      Hell, it wasn’t an occassional glance. It was a full frontal piece of bravery. But brave girls skin their knees. Just gonna sit here for a mo and feel sorry for myself. Then I’m going to put on my big girl panties and go find an icecream.

  3. The way relationships change is a mystery indeed. I myself have gone through the change and loss when I divorced Pete, my first husband. I don’t know if htis makes any difference to you, but I think that the coldness is a mask that is donned by the other party to hide their own pain and protect themselves from hurt. Men are very adept at this sort of disguise due to the training they receive from society that men are not supposed to admit to feeling pain: “Big boys don’t cry” a message that is delivered far too often and is a big crock, but still powerful. And so they learn to wear a hardened covering of disconnection. I believe it is harder for them, in many ways.

    You will find peace, and there most likely will be another partner out there for you. After all, there are something like 7 billion people in the world.

    • Dolce says:

      Of course, you’re right. Just wish I could stop the ‘how pathetic you are, girl, still nursing wounds’ soundtrack out of my head. Getting rid of the behaviour would be good too.

      Bloody hell.

  4. nursemyra says:

    I agree with HMH, coldness is often a mask.


    Life goes on in a different direction……. xx

  5. kono says:

    The difference between men and women i believe is that when women decide it’s over they pick up and get on with it, men not so much, casual cruelty is just one of the things we use in the midst of things falling apart… sometimes, many times it is a mask to hide things and other times it is just that we are cruel in nature, but what do i know i’m a fucking idiot, that was a beautiful piece of writing nonetheless…

    • Dolce says:

      I donno, hey. I made the decision. But I’ve been mourning the man (and what coulda woulda shoulda been) for two years. And he still has the power to sucker punch me. I take full responsibility for this. He’s absolutely within his rights to be cold, to be gone. My pain is such a layered, complicated, awful thing (that isn’t entirely a product of this…but rather that this was a symptom of it’s insatiable rending) that I suspect he’s just over it. Sick of it. Done. The cruelty isn’t deliberate. It just feels cruel in the absence of the warmth that was once there. And it’s left me feeling hollowed out again. Bereft.

  6. robinaltman says:

    When I have a fight with my husband, he knows the best way to bug me is to act really laissez faire – as though he couldn’t care less about the fight, and he’ll just happily watch the basketball game, thank you. It is way more hurtful than the fight.

    • Dolce says:

      Robin! How lovely to see your avatar gracing my screen again.

      Fuck. Laissez fair makes me what to laissez fair the hell out of someone’s face! Grrr.

  7. It always comes as a surprise to me when someone who used to be so warm seemingly flicks a switch and suddenly becomes cold. The coldness bothers me so much, I think, because it’s as if the person is trying to negate the warmth, or worse, deny that it ever existed. Either way, it fucking sucks, Dolce. And, speaking for myself, I’m then left doubting the current and future warmth from others, because its been my experience that warmth is fleeting.

    • Dolce says:

      It’s it exactly. The absence of warmth in a face so previously full of welcome and kindness and…well…love. It feels like a stone in my belly. And you speak for me too. It’s harder than I can say.

  8. GnuKid says:

    Queen to New Game?… and of course it hurts. natural to feel that. what is heartening to me is that, in your response to Daisy, you recognize, yet still are committed to move on. so, leave those big girl panties off (see what i did there?), go get that ice cream, and dance in the rain.

  9. lululabonne says:

    Big panties are very confidence inspiring, I never go out to slay dragons without mine

    • Dolce says:

      Lulu, this is as true a thing as a girl can say. I have reinforced ones, too, so my tummy appears flat…you know…in case there are other, ahem, dragon slayers about. Of the St George type.

  10. I don’t have panties, haven’t for years. And I dance naked in the rain.

    Warmth is fleeting. Anyone who heats their house with wood knows that sometimes the fire goes out. Just because all there is left is ashes in the grate does not mean that you can’t build another fire. You have to get the tinder and kindling, find the matches, acquire some firewood and put it together again. This metaphor may be labored, but what I’m trying to do is suggest that just because one fire has gone cold does not mean that one has to give up all faith in all fires or their existence. There will be another fire. Sometimes it happens because of a lightning strike…

    • Dolce says:

      What do you have, HMH? Are you going commando? I think you’re my hero!

      And I *love* me a tortured metaphor.

      I just seem to be a bit shit at the fire making stuff. I just sit around the hearth, talking shite, wondering why it’s a bit chilly. Occassionally, I might wonder when the other person is going to haul out the flint.

      • Yep. Commando all day every day. It gets a bit dicey on windy days when I wear a skirt, but I’m old enough I don’t really care if someone sees something. I mean, how exciting is a grey haired pussy to a stranger?

        Making fires takes practice, you know. There is an actual art to it, getting the fuel close enough together but not too close. Etc.

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