the things we do for love
the only way out is through
There are two options in this life. Actually, maybe there are three. Moving forwards, moving backwards, or staying the exact same.
Sometimes, Rome feels like living in quicksand. Or on a feedback loop.
Rome is Past Newsletters. PN. And Past Newsletters is Rome. And it is coming up to the finality of a story. A story that I couldn’t really ever seem to shake, no matter what city, what timezone, what airplane, or what continent I was in.
Rome was always there. He was always there.
-
Me and a new friend from my writer’s group are sitting at the bar on a quiet weekday evening. The positives about Rome in the summer are always the friends who visit.
I see The Manager and give him a hug.
“How do you two know each other?”
He’s wearing a fitted white tee and jeans. It’s the most casual I’ve ever seen him.
“I host these writing workshops. I met her though that. We write about love, heartbreak. All of it.”
“So you write about - ?” He says PN’s name out loud.
A story that I couldn’t really ever seem to shake.
“No.” Is my immediate response. It is a blatant lie. But I am trying my best to move on.
How has my identity become so intertwined and wrapped up with someone who I only slept with twice, two springs ago?
He asks me to smoke a cigarette outside with him.
But leaned up against that white brick wall with The Manager, doesn’t have the same effect as it does with the Man at the Front. He decides to tell me how different he is than PN.
“I’m not like him, Emily. I know my problems. I’m aware of them.”
I remain silent and stare up at the moon.
“It’s hiding.”
“What is?”
“The moon. It was out here a few minutes ago. Now I can’t see it.” I’m squinting to see past the tower in the centre of the parking lot.
-
A few weeks ago on my IG stories, I asked:
Would you give up the love of your life for your dream career?
You can have both, I really believe you can. But let’s say you couldn’t. In this scenario, in this game of life. It would have to be one or the other.
I had a dream a few months ago. I was being interviewed. I had written a book. This book. And the interviewer asked me, “So was all of this worth it?”
“What do you mean?”
“The heartbreak. The stories. Or would you have rather have lived out that love story, without the book? Without the success?”
In the dream, I waited a long time before answering. In my head, I said:
Tell them yes, Emily. Tell them the heartbreak was worth it. Tell them the success and the money and fortune and fame and being known and recognized made it all worth it in the end.
“If he asked me to give up everything to run away with him. I would. I totally and completely would.”
The rational answer? The answer I should give? Yes. It was all worth it.
But the answer from my heart?
I’ll tell you something. Ever since waking up from that dream, I ask myself that same, exact question. Every single morning.
And each and every morning, the answer is always this: I would have chosen love, I would have chosen him, over and over and over again.
-
“How is everything with your ex?” From the corner of his eye, I can feel The Manager is watching me and The Man at the Front outside.
He shakes his head. “Ten years. And Emily, I could have anyone. I could have any girl.”
I laugh. It’s true. He’s just shown me shots from a recent photoshoot of his. His eyes, his body. And I’ve seen it first hand. The way women will throw themselves at him to get inside.
“But no matter what happens between us. No matter what she does. I will always go back to her. I always go back.”
“Why do you love her?” I ask him. I can feel The Manager’s eyes on us, and I choose to ignore.
“She understands me. Like no one else ever has. And I think, as men, we need that love and that understanding a lot more than we’d like to admit.”
Things start to click in my mind. Why he was always so frustrated about my love for PN. Because he was in the same position that I was.
“You know what’s interesting? Everything that I ever told you about him. About why I loved him. And the advice that you gave me. I think it was words that you needed to hear yourself.”
He doesn’t say anything, but nods instead.
“He told me something once. That love isn’t meant to be explained. Rationalized. Only felt. And I think you should just let yourself love her. Even if you know it’s not going to end up in the way you want it to. It’s really the only way through.”
Moving forwards, moving backwards, or staying the exact same.
The Man At the Front is usually quick with his comebacks. But not this time. Instead, he stares at me, as if slowly starting to put puzzle pieces together himself.
“Sometimes he said smart things to you.”
Now me and the Man at the Front have a deeper understanding of each other. We both love people, who, for whatever reasons and demons of their own, can’t love us back in the way in which we want.
“But only sometimes.”