Falling from the Clouds

Everything was awash in gray. The day took its tone from the weather and provided nothing but quiet reserve and a subtle air of melancholy. A quiet morning slipped away, lost in the somber morning light and a permeating sense of depression that seemed the envelope the day. My phone signaled a text message. One friend, bailing on our brunch plans due to a death in the family. Message delivered, the phone sunk into silence. Another friend called, returning my text – the heaviness in her voice implied a situation more serious than she was willing to let on. The threat of love lost lingered in the air long after I hung up the phone.

Love is perhaps one of the greatest gambles we make in life, a twisted game of Russian Roulette played with emotions and words instead of a wheel and a ball. We hold our breaths and toss, hoping, hoping that the one we want will be where we land. Just like Russian Roulette, we often think love is deceptively easy, more a game of luck than a game of skill. And just like Russian Roulette, we could lose everything we have worked for with one poorly judged play.

The pain is intense. Even sitting on the other end of a phone line, listening to the death knell of a friend's relationship sent such an ache through my being that I found that tears ran down my face, well beyond my ken or understanding. The ending of a relationship. So abrupt, so final. More heaviness began to bear down on me. The day became a muted blur as I quickly pulled on some clothes and went to meet my friend. I exited my apartment, inhaling air crisp with the chill of winter. My breath caught in my throat. How many times had I been in this situation before? All around me, relationships were crumbling like sand castles at high tide, leaving me and my fledgling love clinging to each other on a shrinking shoal. My friends' pain easily blends with my memories, creating a demented tapestry of feeling and investment. Everyone starts out the same way, full of starry-eyed declarations of love and promises of fidelity. Eventually, except for a lucky few, those feelings begin to ebb and fade. Words develop hurtful edges, you spend more time apart, the love that you have woven with each other begins to unravel.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we engage in such painful exercises in futility? Why do we hunt for understanding and companionship, knowing it will more likely than not end 1, 2, 3 years down the line? Why do we even play the dating game, knowing that if you play for real you are wide open to receive someone else's pain and abuse? For some reason, in a society that is overwhelmingly cynical, where sarcasm is praised and optimism is met with scorn, how do we some how manage to hope against hope that things will work out. How do we continue to wait for love, knowing that it could be so easily wrenched from us? Is there even a purpose to this?

I walked slowed down while approaching the cross walk. I looked up to get my bearings, and a single raindrop fell, landing right below my eye, tracing the path my tears had left. Convenient that: When I had to be strong for someone else, the sky cried for me.