As the days are passing, it's hard for me to stop thinking about that last conversation I had with Jack. It was on the phone, which was less than ideal, and it ended with my hanging up on him, which was even less ideal. I hate ending conversations like that, especially when at the end of said conversation, there is a long, possibly-permanent silence. But I suppose, at least in that moment, the thing that I hated more than leaving a conversation like that, was continuing a conversation through my tears.
I'm not a crier. And you can go ahead and say that all women are born-criers, that the smallest thing will trigger the monsoon of the century to spill from our doe-like eyes. But for me, it's just not the case. As the youngest of an all-girl family, I suppose I was my father's last-ditch effort to have a son. But lo and behold, it was another girl. Me. And so, for the majority of my adolescence and teenage years, I was an avid competitor in sports (I played four throughout my childhood and through High School), two of which my father was my coach. Among the many things I learned from this experience was that tears should be a rare commodity. Tears don't solve anything, and thus they are pointless. To this day, even years after my father's passing, I can still hear him any time I get a bruise on my leg, or worse, on my heart: "If you're not bleeding or dying, you're fine. No tears, Allie, no crying."
You might think of this as cruel or inhumane, but it's actually come in handy during many times in my life. Tears don't do a damn thing but keep you down and smear your mascara. My father was right, they don't solve problems. That part is up to you.
But Jack had a way of making me break my rules - one of which was the 'no tears' rule. I cried almost every time we fought. I'm not sure why, either. He wasn't mean. I've had a different ex-boyfriend say mean things to me - cruel things - that didn't spur a single teardrop. So why did Jack have this effect so easily on me? Was it because I wanted so terribly to make it work? Was it my stubborn side, unable to let things go unresolved and my father's mantra simply slipped out the window?
That last conversation was brutal on my emotions. He said that he needed space a few weeks ago, and I was unable to give it to him, which was completely true. I needed him. I felt like I couldn't breathe when I wasn't with him. Maybe it was unhealthy, but it's how I felt. I needed to be around him.
He said that "distance should make the heart grow fonder". I, personally, think that entire saying is bullshit. I understand the importance of missing someone, sure. It keeps the fire alive, some might say, and I might be inclined to agree. But make the heart grow fonder? And if it is so - if my pessimistic mind can't understand the truth behind it - then how much distance do I need to give, and is it too late now?
Do we need distance to get closer?
