Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Fact Into Fable
H.G. and I own a shop at the festival where I work. The other week, artists were invited to paint their impressions of the fair, and our store happened to catch the eye of one of them. He painted an image of our shop that matched one we had always imagined between ourselves, deep in our shared interior space. A shop that never was, in a place that never existed, but the very one we could remember years from now, when our lifetime of common experience finally brought us both to the moment wherein looking back upon our history would bring us assurance that our future would continue.
And so I find it with Dar. The mark he made on me is deep; I have to accept its permanency. Giving him up can't change that, because I can't give back our brief history, can't give back my love for him. He mattered to me. Things that matter are the only kind that change us.
Like this painter, maybe now I can only contain Dar in story, where wondering and wishing is just a subplot adding color and mood to the central arc, whatever that is. Not to romanticize it, but to hold the essential hope of it, the little victories of it, as though it once was, never mind that it isn't.
Things will be better when I learn to apply what he touched in me.