Wine is a Woman

People who are in pain do strange things. It’s very difficult, and I might add wrong, to judge someone who is in pain. It doesn’t matter if that pain is physical, mental or both. It doesn’t matter if that person put themselves in that position or not. Pain is just pain. As humans, we should be there to comfort one another when we observe another human’s pain. This doesn’t mean that one should enable negative behavior. Just hold someone’s hand, give them a hug, or just do like I do, tell a raunchy joke or make light of their situation when needed.

I broke a rule. I contacted the one who broke my heart. I didn’t ask my friends if I should do this. I didn’t ask anyone’s permission. I did consult my favorite bottle of red wine and she said, “Go for it.” You know that wine is a woman. She has to be. She’s beautiful to gaze upon through a transparent glass. She’s seductive. She wants to be wanted and enjoyed. Some are full bodied while others are bare bones. Some are sweet and some are like vinegar. My favorite, Apothic Red, has an awesome nose and a fabulous finish. I’m sure that you’d love to meet her, but I digress.

So I contacted the lost love. I could also say that Adele made me do it. Sultry, broken, fierce lyrics pour out of her like lava. I sent a text message. I still have the number memorized. I frequently dream about dialing the number and the numbers don’t work. Maybe I’ve pushed past that dream because the numbers did work. I sent “Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’.” It took a few minutes and I received a reply, ” I listened to the song. Who is this?” Lost love never knew my number. All this time I kept from breaking the rule to ensure that there was no way of contacting me and I kept it that way. I responded, “If you listened to the song then you should know who this is.” Lost love knew and asked how I was doing, how my family was doing. I responded by saying that we were all fine and to forgive me because I wouldn’t ask how he was doing because it would hurt too much. Lost love understood. The interaction lasted for about forty-five minutes. Not once did we lash out, lay blame, or overemphasize how grandiose our lives were now.

I needed to make this painful memory into a human being and I needed to put my feelings in order. This interaction had nothing to do with wanting to return to the life I had before. It had everything with doing what I needed to do to survive my own twisted heart and mind. It was an experiment and I was willing to do anything. I don’t like being angry or confused. I don’t like harboring ill feelings toward anyone.

So far so good. Once again, I’m not perfect. I went against the rules, but I repaired a tear in my heart. I feel relieved. Lost love is a human being and someone I once viewed as a hero. I recalled all the wonderful things that we once shared. I realized and embraced what I already knew, focusing on the negative doesn’t provide any comfort.

I won’t ask for forgiveness for my broken rule. I compare it to a hungry person stealing a piece of bread. It’s about survival and it’s about learning.

Peace from the Rogue Mare