I remember feeling woozy the morning I realized my relationship with Elijah was flailing. It wasn’t from the Bacardi and Coke I inhaled the night prior. On the contrary, that poison had left my system after a few midnight bathroom runs. This feeling originated from my gut, which was nudging me into awareness. Because peeing like a woman who wears Depends wasn’t making me any wiser.
My gut knew my relationship had met its expiration date. Elijah and I had fallen into a dangerous pattern, where woven threads created shapes depicting hesitation and fear. I remember lying on my back, reworking and evaluating my relationship, while Elijah cleaned out the gutters. Would our relationship see the changing of leaves? Would it experience snowfall or the flourishing of flowers after an April shower? No answer from my gut, and so I pushed my doubts aside to prevent one of my infamous panic attack.
In time, the pending questions were answered. Elijah and I were no longer, and though the destruction of our relationship destroyed me at the time, I realized we were meant to meet, be and cease. Elijah and I weren’t meant for a lifetime. We didn’t have enough in common to keep us together past December. Elijah and I weren’t meant for a season because seasons fade to only return again. Elijah and I met for a reason. He needed someone to love him, appreciate him and teach him women could indeed be trusted. I needed to feel loved, lovable, admired, catered to and simply good enough. We met each other’s needs, regaining our hope and faith in love, if only temporarily. And once I realized this I knew what to do.
Learn, let go and live with gratitude and (self)love.