A short story
I remember that first day, brushed alongside me in a sea of men down the corridor, her smile so sweet and irresistible. She introduced herself and the rest feels like history. My mind consumed and heart racing. She became my priority and I could feel her energy parallel. Noting her loneliness in this new city, she began to build a home within me. As I did in her, unknowingly. Days became months, then a year. In this time, we adorned our “home”with bright lights, ornate structures, and of course with our abundance and what felt like love. Each time we looked at each other, it was with a novelty comparable to getting a new puppy. Adorable, unconditional, playful and… perfect.
Eventually, she would invite others into our home, and instead of requesting I move out, she asked that I stay in our basement. Like a painting collecting dust in our home, but still present in case their owner cares to peek at it when the urge arises. Far, but never too far. Men came and went, held her heart, then crushed it. Each time this happened she would somberly walk to the basement to find refuge in me. Selfishly, I admit I loved to be her savior from a world that can be so cruel. I wanted to break her falls when she tripped, just so she could walk away unscathed; all while the bruises on my chest deepen. I clung on to the hope that she could stare back at me the way she once did. But love is pain I always heard, and all my memories of us melted into a fantasy I had of a blissful future. Reality and fantasy became one, and I was no longer able to decipher between the two.
One day, I strolled the streets aimlessly when a familiar face crossed my path. It was someone of my past, before “her.” She smiled at me and I’ll never forget her gaze. Her eyes adorned me as if I was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. For years I felt like the unconventional painting in a museum most would turn a blind eye to. But not in her presence. Her stare was deep with reverence and appreciation. She suddenly grabbed my hand, and says to me “you are a beautiful flower. If you’ll have me, I promise to never just pluck you from a garden, then plant you in a pot for my own temporary amusement. I will root myself right by you, and as the sun beats its energy upon us, grow alongside you. We will watch our boundless garden grow.” I became frightened at her words, yet my heart beat faster in that moment. My spirit sprung in a way I hadn’t felt in years. “This cannot be true, and I cannot allow it” I spoke to myself- I have a love at home waiting for me. A dream I must continue to strive for. So, I let go of her warm touch and intense gaze and walked away.
I arrived home, and my love was awaiting to open the door for me. She could see my disheveled state after running home. She asks “where have you been?” I share with her this encounter I just had. That this woman of my past…her face still replaying in my mind. Her words pierced my heart and rooted me in a reality I had not experienced in so long. Suddenly, my love’s gaze became one of innate fury. She says to me “but we have built this home together. We cannot destroy it now. This woman of your past. She is an uninvited guest.” My mind stirred, and wondered, how then were these men invited over the years, my permission never asked? It was OUR home after all, right? Why then was I not allowed to invite guests over? My love only then took my hand, and stared deeply into my eyes, the way she once did, years ago. It was as if I suddenly was a hot commodity, similar to a frenzy of people in line for new sneakers. She may not have even liked the shoe, but felt compelled to be in line, while watching everyone else line up. I was puzzled by this, but my love for her remained strong, so I sat still while she held my hand and whispered sweet nothings into the night. She asked me to come upstairs that night. As our hands intertwined, I asked her “why have you left me in the basement…like an old painting you are sick of? Instead of displaying me upstairs for you to see and admire?” She says “you’re right, let’s hang you back up. Stay with me upstairs, move back up here with me.” And with no hesitation, I did.
I lived upstairs together with my love in our home for some time, and we radiated again with joy. There was a familiarity we both hung on to, and it served us for a time.
But, one day, my love comes to me and says “I’m sorry love, I realize I need to move out. And I’d like to put this house up for sale to help finance us separating to new homes.” In dismay, I plead with her on answers. She says “this home has always just been so safe. But I found one down the road more beautiful than this. And the man living in it, is also beautiful. I never have felt this way before.” My heart sank deeper than into any abyss. “But what about this home we created together? I thought you never wanted to tear it down???” She replied coolly, “of course this home will always hold a special place in my heart. I will come visit you often my love, when you get a new home. I promise. Okay? And should things not work with this next man, let’s chat about building our home together again.” And just like that, she walked away, and left me with no home to my name.
I realized then, my love had plucked me like a beautiful flower from the earth, only to be potted and moved to different rooms at will. When I wilted, she watered me just enough to keep my leaves from dying. I then remembered what the woman of my past had told me, about building a garden together. Slowly but with certainty and ever growing beauty. But this woman of my past….she faded back into the past. Where she is now, I can’t be too sure.
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“The biggest mistake that we make is that we build our homes in other people. We invest in homes in other people, and we evaluate our self worth based on how much those homes welcome us. And when those people walk away, those homes walk away with them, and all of a sudden we feel empty because everything that we had within us, we put in those homes. We trusted someone else with pieces of us. That emptiness that we feel does not mean we have nothing to give, or that we have nothing within us. It’s just that we built our home in the wrong place” - Najwa Zebian
