“You are still in love with him……”
Like a lit match thrown carelessly into kindling, someone tosses this little tidbit into the discussion.
Interesting thought. Does it look that way to you? Does it feel that way to me?
Is it nostalgia. Or an echo? Isn’t it mourning and grieving that just never ends, like dancing with a ghost in a dank, dusty room in the farthest end of the hallway? Is it pulling out a very old picture that is fading with time, of holding hands of little ones long since grown or of affection long grown cold.
Is that love?
Is the melancholy that comes of wishes and dreams that passed away before their time, love? Can hopes for a life that were never fulfilled ever be erased or that hollow space filled with something other than ache?
If I sometimes yet sit and recall memories of times that feel so sweet even now have to mean that I love the person still or may it be that I still love the memory? If I daydream of family gathered, of weddings attended of births celebrated or travels together that will never happen, is that yet love?
Lingering and unrequited. Wishes have their time and if not, then they are not. Dreams can meander and flirt along the edges because they are made of hope– but as the Good Book says, ‘Hope deferred makes the heart sick’
Surely not love