Holding On To The Love I Don’t Have

My goodness, here I’ve sat, trying to think of way to talk about the reason for why I started this blog, the catalyst for my descent back into the depths of depression.  For a good hour.  Yet it’s no good.  I can’t think of way to talk about it without getting upset.

She was and is, to a much smaller degree now, the love of my life.  Yet I still can’t quite let go.  Every day, and every hour, will contain a bittersweet thought of her, raising a rueful smile and an internal scream of pain at the same time.

It’s probably about time I faced up to the probability we will never talk, text or see each other ever again.  It’s painful beyond belief.  I’ve never felt hurt like this before and this includes family, friends and pets dying.  She’s done a number on me big time.

Okay, let’s pour my heart about her.  For the sake of privacy I’ll call her Emma (I’m sure Teresa will appreciate my discretion in keeping her anonymity).

I first met Emma at a sports and leisure club in 2008.  Neither of us were participating.  She was a club secretary doing her bits and pieces, I was with a friend, idly sitting, waiting for someone to finish playing their game so we could go shopping.

It was the classic ‘our eyes met’.  She had these cheeky, twinkling green eyes, and blonde wavy hair from a bottle.  Petite and a figure to be envious of.  A lovely smile as well.  Oddly enough, when we chatted, I didn’t like her much, just something about her bluntness that was a bit disarming for a first conversation.

We saw each other again there a few weeks afterwards.  Later on Emma told me that for her she’d loved me the moment clapped eyes on me and not a day went by in those weeks where she didn’t think of or yearn for me.  Funny how it works out.


Anyway, I’m digressing.  Despite my earlier reservations about her personality, I found myself breaking into a big smile when I saw Emma again.  We chatted more and more, and she began dispelling what I thought of her as a person.  I stayed there all afternoon and into the evening instead of another shopping trip.

Within days we were swapping texts, meeting up, going out of an evening.  Our first date as a couple was under a tree in the countryside on a balmy summer night watching the world go by.  We fell in love.

There was a spanner in the works though.  Unbeknownst to me, she was with someone else.  Inevitably came the curt phone call of “it’s best not to see each other” followed by a less than polite rant down the phone from her partner.

I was shook up, heartbroken, angry, all those usual emotions.  But it was very easy to break off contact.  I had other things going on in my life, a full time paid job in particular.  I spent the weekends out and about all over Britain with friends, and my lad, so dwelling on things was never an option.

The years went by.  We kept in occasional touch, and once or twice saw each other in the street.  There was no bitterness, just a smile and a friendly hug.  It was nice to break up like that.

Then in 2012 came a little eye opening news.  Emma was breaking up with her partner.  By this time her hair had changed to a sexy, chestnut bob cut.  A little less cheeky but she looked fabulous for it.  I thought back with fondness at our brief time together and asked her out almost straight away.

We made sure our first date back together was well away from prying eyes.  We spent the day at a seaside resort a hundred miles away.  Our first kiss was electric, our hugs that much more heartfelt.  I loved Emma more deeply and passionately than anyone else ever, and far deeper than our first liaison.

Our love became stronger and stronger.  Despite being a company director, Emma wanted to spend long weekends with me.  As a compromise she spent many, many hours at work from Monday to Thursday.


After a while, although we were too old and worldly wise to just move straight in together, she had me moved into a much, much nicer place than the bedsit I’d become accustomed to and felt cosy in.  When I went into hospital for check-ups and the occasional op, it was Emma by my side, holding my hand, not family.  I loved Emma with every fibre of my being.

They say love conquers everything.  It did with us.  She supported the football team that are my side’s deadly rivals.  Politically, we were polar opposites.  Yet it didn’t matter.  Emma was funny, cute, intelligent, practical, beautiful and loved me.  She was my dream woman.  I told Emma that if we could I’d marry her tomorrow.  Often.

It all changed, though, when she took up a new job.  Emma’s old company went into liquidation, and began a new career in late 2013.  Clearly, she needed to work her way up whilst knuckling down.  It meant, of course, five day working weeks.

Soon after Emma started, the texts, the calls, the dates became less frequent.  She talked of being permanently tired.  I missed her but said nothing.  Then I had that awful Christmas and New Year where I saw neither Emma or my lad.  As it turned out she genuinely did have a flu virus.

We went out for fish and chips and a snuggle on Saturday 4th January this year.  From then until the night of Valentines Day I heard nothing.  The calls, e-mails and texts dried up.  Emma made no attempt to see or get in contact with me.

I thought about going to see her, either at home or the workplace, but wondered, if she had wanted to not see me anymore, if that was stalking.  Each day that passed the pain grew more and more intense.  With other problems engulfing me, I sought help for my tortured soul.

Then all of a sudden, a text on that fateful Valentines Night.  “Where are you?”.  Followed by “I f***ing love you.”  I gleefully replied.  We talked late into the night and became reunited the following morning.

We snuggled, and as we did so Emma said “You know I’ll never leave you.”  We took  a drive out to pick my lad up, then when we returned, I gave her one more deep, loving kiss, as she left my lad and I to our pre-arranged event.  More texts followed during the course of the day, our love re-affirmed.

Then, as soon as Emma walked back into my life, reigniting my deep, deep love for her, she was gone again.  Texts, calls, e-mails, none were returned.  I clung to the pathetic hope that she was intent on a pattern of seeing my every 5 weeks.  Or perhaps Emma was putting me through some sort of test.

It left me feeling suicidal.  To this day I still do not know why we’ve split up.  I can only surmise she’s either got back with her ex-partner, found someone at her new workplace, or simply didn’t want to see me anymore but couldn’t face telling me.

It’s perhaps because of the not knowing that I still have this tiny strand in me that illogically clings on.  I realise, being the fool that I am, that if Emma walked right back in to my life this evening, I’d convince myself that all was okay again, that I was back in love with ‘the one’ and that we’ll live happily ever after.

Emma got to me like nobody else in my life.  I hate that I’ve been so mentally screwed by her.  But I know that there’s a small part of me that will always love Emma unconditionally no matter what.  Holding on to a love I don’t have.

Wow, here was me not knowing how to write about this, yet once I started, I couldn’t stop.  Which summed up Emma and I perfectly.  And still does me.  Slowly but surely, though, I’m beginning to see that there will be a life, a love, ahead without her.  It hurts though.  It bloody hurts.

On that note, have a lovely weekend!


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