Say That Our Love Ain’t Water Under the Bridge

The day had been exhausting. I’d spent the day with a couple of my favorite coworkers designing a scene and setting it up for a charity Santa event at my work, so while it was rewarding, it was also tiring. Traffic was awful. It was rush hour, so to keep myself calm I’d put on my audio book and I’d gotten off the freeway an exit earlier. Traffic was still bad as I made my way up 33rd south. I was hitting every traffic light, but it was okay as I was accurately engulfed in the tale being read to me over my car speakers.

I was listening to After You by Jojo Moyes. I’d read Before You in less than a day, and I’d cried my way through the entirety of that book-so I had already expected After You to be a real tear-jerker as it was a follow up and meant to cover the main character’s grief.  However, as of yet, I hadn’t felt overwhelmingly sad or had any big emotional reactions. Then, as I sat there in traffic listening to the British accent lilt on about two characters coming together physically, I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks.

It wasn’t even a sad part. It was a lovely part about two people who’d been flirting coming together while the rain fell outside and the chickens clucked away outside the window. She described how they showed their scars to each other, and then how they touched each other and began to make love-and I cried.

I cried because I miss it. More than anything I miss touching someone-having their hands on me-sharing that kind of intimacy. It’s not only that I miss… At this point I couldn’t go out and just be intimate with anyone and have that need fulfilled-I miss him. I miss specific hands on me-hands I haven’t been able to get over just yet. Hands I’m not sure I’ll ever get over entirely, no matter where life takes me, and what other hands find their way to my body.

There’s a kind of heaviness that comes with accepting that something you want badly may just never be. The weight comes from realizing that no matter how much you accept it, or how far you move on, there may always be some small part of you deep inside that never fully releases it. A part that never fully lets go of the “what ifs” and the “could’ve beens.” It’s pushes down on you, right in the center of your chest, and it fills your stomach with what feels like a gut full of dirt and rocks-weighted, but substance-free.

Once, I saw one of those Facebook quote images that gets passed around share to share, showing up on the wall of ladies who’ve had their hearts broken a time or two. It said something to the effect of “heartache feels like all those butterflies you once felt have died.” It’s true. What once felt like a flurry of emotion and excitement stuttering around inside of your chest now feels like a graveyard echoing the fear that you may never feel like that again. It’s like all the butterflies just died…

What if you never meet another person that makes you feel that rush again? What if the possible feelings for and from others in the future pale in comparison? What if no one’s hands ever quite feel the same as his hands did?

Logically I know it is ridiculous to feel that way.  I’ve felt like that before, and I’ve always moved on from it regardless.  The last person’s hands were forgotten once the next one’s fingers traced the soft outline of my collarbone. Their kiss was a distant memory as soon as I tasted the next set of lips… It happens.  We move forward. Our hearts are remarkably healable… A few scars left here and there, always a small reminder of what once was, but the majority remains in tact and open to more love-as long as we let it. We know we’ll move on if the time comes, but we hope we don’t have to.

I still hope I don’t have to.

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If you’re not the one for me, then how come I can bring you to your knees?
If you’re not the one for me, why do I hate the idea of being free?
And if I’m not the one for you, you’ve gotta stop holding me the way you do
Oh and if I’m not the one for you, why have we been through what we have been through?

It’s so cold out here in your wilderness
I want you to be my keeper, but not if you are so reckless 

[Chorus]
If you’re going to let me down, let me down gently, don’t pretend that you don’t want me
Our love ain’t water under the bridge
If you’re going to let me down, let me down gently, don’t pretend that you don’t want me
Our love ain’t water under the bridge
Oooh, say that our love ain’t water under the bridge

Oh what are you waiting for? You never seem to make it through the door
And who are you hiding from? It ain’t no life to live like you’re on the run
Have I ever asked for much? The only thing that I want is your love

[Chorus]

It’s so cold in your wilderness
I want you to be my but not if you are so reckless

[Chorus]

Oooh, say that our love ain’t water under the bridge
Say that our love ain’t water under the bridge

Water Under the Bridge by Adele, from the album 25

On another note, I’ve listened to the entirety of this new Adele album on repeat like twenty times now… I’m not even exaggerating.  It’s so good.  I’m going to keep up the Musical Mondays and deep thoughtful posts that go with them, even if I’m not hosting the link-up anymore.  If you’d like to join, please do, just leave your link in the comments. ♥

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