The unseasonably warm temps gronkled the hell out of the heating system, and my room has been ridiculously warm, even with the thermostat set at 65. The coming cooling spell should make it more bearable, but today I am less than stellar.
I'm also feeling rather hollow inside. That's something born of emotion, though there is a physical component as well (the medication is back with the nausea). In the deep term, I'm lonely. It's not the social loneliness of missing friends, it's a deeper loneliness that's carved from missing what feels like a part of yourself. I think I'm missing Love.
I was married once. I thought I was in love then. I probably was-- it sure fely like it anyway-- and I'm pretty sure she was too, in the stunted sense of two kinda screwed up people. After that, I was "married" in concept for twelve years, which ended not with a bang, not with a whimper, but something in between, like a growly burp-fart, uncomfortable and messy. That was maybe love too, though damaged in its own way.
But I've seen people who made it through hardship together and came out the other end strong and solid within each other, the kind of love that you see growing old together, not with sniping and jibes, but genuine affection and caring, acceptance of all the foibles that the other makes.
And I don't have that. I don't think I ever did.
It may be just illusion, but I doubt it. There's a certain truth that shines deeply in their eyes that I've never seen before, a certainty that holds no room for doubt or question, pure and complete, seamless.
And this too shall end.