Recently, someone who is fastly becoming dear to me told me they were in an "off and on" relationship with someone. I had mixed feelings. First of all, I will admit that a part of me hates it because rather than an "off and on" relationship with someone else, I would rather they were just "on" with me. But aside from that, I sympathized. I was in an "off and on" situation for years. When we were "on", things were REALLY good. But when we were "off", I felt like a wrecking ball made its way through my life and every time I thought I would get it all together, it made a loop around just for fun. I know that when I looked into the future, all I could see was what I wanted to be. I couldn't see that my dreams were just Spackle used to cover up the ugly holes in what could never be. But even deeper than that, I thought about my analogy of relationships. When I finally decided to get out of my situation, it came to me that relationships are like art galleries. You display the awe-inspiring and invite people from miles around to admire. You put the pretty gold name plates under the moments you feel will make them drift away to a place that might be better than their world and have hopes of someday having beautiful moments for themselves. They stand, staring with fingers on temples searching for the meaning and truth behind your exhibits. They will tell all of their friends so that they too can come gawk at your gaiety.
But as with an art gallery, people forget there exists storage in relationships. Therein lies the works deemed currently unmoving or perhaps simply less awe-inspiring. These pieces are forgotten because we have found something much more beautiful to show. As much as we would like to say that we keep these pieces because they magnify the beauty of the ones we hang, the truth is we know that when we look at the beauty, we cannot help exploring the questions spawned by their contrasts. We have to ask ourselves the hard questions. How is it that something so beautiful and something so ugly can be created by the same means? Is it right to hide what's ugly? What happens when what we show no longer works? When we shove that it storage? What do we have left?
For me, I realized that in my relationship, when I found a few pretty things to hang on the wall, I stopped working of the stuff I knew was a little rough. Instead, I shoved it in a closet and invited people to focus on the pretty things while these things, once just "a little rough" became dank, dusty and ugly. Because I just let them sit, they lost the little hope and luster they had left. I let people feast their eyes on "He Is With Me Four Nights Out Of The Week" while I ignored the picture that showed me the fact that when he wasn't with me the rest of the time, he was seeing fit to save face and maintain something for someone other than me. When I invited him to look at "He Always Tells Me How Sexy I Am", I didn't see "He Hasn't Said He Loves Me In A Week". "He Wants Me" hid "He GETS Me". "He Feels So Good To Me" completely overshadowed "He Is So Good For Me". "I Feel Really Good About Him" paled in comparison to "He Makes Me Feel Good About Me". I pushed "Our Hearts Belong Together" aside for "All Of Our Friends Say We Belong Together". Instead of "It's Easy To Be With Him", I would rather have looked at "We Look So Good Together". I left all the pictures I was ashamed of in the back room and prayed no one would ever find them. Every time I walked into that storage shed, I averted my gaze from the large picture of my crying eyes that stood against the wall. But I always noticed how they saddened a bit more every time I came in with another piece of pretty I had taken down. It didn't matter to me what those big brown windows to my own soul said to me. All I knew was that I loved him, I had loved him for years and that was what I was supposed to do. Year after year, I returned to the storage shed with pieces of our love that were no longer masterpieces. Pretty soon, my visits became more regular. One night when the adoring crowd had departed and all I had left to look at was "My Love For Him" with its faded name plate and the empty spot next to it where "His Love For Me" used to be, I sat still in that empty gallery and finally allowed myself to feel. I heard a rumble from the back room and felt water beneath my feet. Those eyes, those brazen crystals, those big brown windows to my soul would not be ignored any longer. They broke down the door and let the ugly out. At first it took my breath away. The rush of the waves hit me so hard it felts as though I was being stabbed through the heart. Then I opened my eyes and saw what surrounded me. I was finally forced to see the things I had ignored. I saw the realities. I saw the reasons. I saw the fact that all of what everyone else had seen as art was merely a collection of watercolors that happened to look good under the lights. I saw that everything I had worked so hard to collect was nothing more than a pile of junk to entertain fools who had no clue about art and no real knowledge of love. While I saw all of the reasons we were "on" and heard their echoes of joy, I was finally forced to see that the reasons we were "off" were important too. Once packed tightly in a box in the corner, I saw all the chances at true love I had missed. I finally saw how beautiful they were and regretted pushing them aside. I reached out for them, but they were too far out of reach. The more I saw, the more those eyes of mine cried and raged from the back room. But they were gracious enough not to let me die in the undertow. Instead they seemed to empower me, to make each breath stronger. They worked their magic and created a watery tornado around me that threw a montage of thoughts, memories and feelings against the walls. I saw what I had refused to before and learned the lessons I had run away from. When the storm finally stopped, I was left with the rubble of the life and love I thought was right for me. But still strong, against the wall, stood the picture of my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I could see myself.
I don't know that he will ever come to the same realization I did. I don't know that he will ever see that love is not meant to be "off and on". I don't know that those beautiful windows to his soul will ever show him the beautiful storm or if he will reach out to me as I float by. I don't know that he will realize my beauty and wish he had never let me go. But I can only hope he will see how I could have been that love that stayed on for him, the gentle burn of an eternal flame.
TK
