Ramblings of a Broken Heart

Been alone and happy

Silent and consistent

7 years rebuilding

You broke in

Lighting the darkness

An unexpected change

If I ask you why

You'll say, you don't know

To show me I'm not alone

What's in it for you

What's my role

Where is my place with you

Fear is not knowing

Not knowing your need

Not being the lead

You are, my not knowing…

I don't know what to do right now. I have always been in control of my life. Who came in, what direction we were going, what decisions came next and the choices made.

You, you broke in without warning. Pushed your way through every defense I thought I had, never taking no for an answer. But why? You have spent the last 5 months pulling me in just to push me away. 5 months going back and forth. Every time I get close, you pull away, get quiet and hide. You say you don't want a relationship, you don't have time, and you're too focused on your career. But yet, if I walk away, you act like I did you wrong. I can see when you miss me and I know what's going to happen next. You are so unpredictable, that you're actually pretty predictable. And the only thing I can do is ride it out. I know when you start to get close that you're going to pull away, only to go a few days without talking to me and be right back next to me all over again. It drives me insane!!! I don't know if I've done or said something wrong. I don't know if you have someone else that has your attention. But I know this isn't fair. It isn't fair to pick up a book you have no intention of opening. It's not fair to learn someone's darkest places without any intention of knowing why it's so dark.

My Dad owned a 1976 Harley Davidson Shovelhead. He spent a lot of time building this bike and getting it just right. The gas tank on this thing was huge! Or at least it looked that way to a pair of 3 year old bright brown eyes. I remember, I'd beg my dad to get the bike out and it didn't take much to get him to. "Ok, go get your helmet." he'd say. I'd go and get his old, white, full head helmet, that looked like he had drug it down the highway a few times, and wait for him to walk the bike out of the shed. It was all black except the red Harley Davidson emblem on the side of the tank. He'd kick that thing I don't know how many times before it'd finally kick over and that sound would come rumbling from deep inside it. My stomach would get full of butterflies and I couldn't help but giggle. My dad would come over and tell me to wait while it got warm. You could always tell when it was ready, as it's "bubble rumble" would get slower. He'd check my helmet, making sure the strap was tight and we'd walk over to the bike. He would tell me "DON'T touch this, it's hot and it will burn a hole in your leg!!", pointing to the exhaust pipe that ran under the engine. I'd always try to step on it to climb up.

Grabbing the handle bars and giving it some gas, he’d get the kickstand up and reach over, pick me up with one arm and set me on the gas tank, "This my seat and no one else's, right Daddy" I'd holler over the loud rumbles. He'd smile so big and proud and say "That's right! OK, you ready?" as I'd sit down, cross my legs and wrap my arms as tight as I could over his. Off we'd go, through the yard and out onto the road. As soon as that back tire hit the pavement he knew what I wanted and would just get on it. We were flying before I knew it and my dad was the only one that could get me that high.

The wind, that hot air smashing my face, forcing my eyes to close and pushing me back into his chest. I knew I was safe and nothing could hurt me. It's the only time I didn't think of anything else. Nothing could touch me, catch me, stop me or hurt me. I think it hurt me more than him, when that bike was stolen. The biggest piece of my happiness, gone…

How are he and I now? You know the answer to that… I only call him Norman now. I hate that memory today. He was the first person to walk away from me and he doesn't even realize it. I used to think of that old bike and remember how much he loved me and it made me hold on a little bit longer "Maybe one day he'll love me like that again".

I know now, that's why I don't let go so easily. I hold on to moments that I felt loved and hope for those moments to come back. I hope maybe one day you'll remember laughing with me in the truck, or taking pictures in the rain. Or bringing me your arm because I couldn't sleep without you, or yelling out of the window for everyone to hear "HAVE A GOODNIGHT, BEAUTIFUL!!" and not be able to walk away from me.

I don't want to let those moments go because you don't do things like that for or with people you don't love. You don't make people love you, if you have no intentions of loving them back. I'm afraid of you, because I don't truly know what your intentions are, and no matter what you say, the little voice inside will remind me that there is always a possibility that you might leave me too.