A Dissolute Life Means…

Hours into dinner and deep conversation Elliot saw an entry point to go where he needed to go.  “It’s me, not you,” was the gist.  A glimmer of a swell building far off shore shortly after we met had now developed into a giant crashing wave of depression.  He’s drowning.

I went to his house full of curiosity.  I was going to tell him it wasn’t working for me no matter what happened between the two of us, but as the night progressed I was more convinced than ever that ending it was the right thing to do and anything physical was out of the question.

He was pinched and cut off, desperate for the air of solitude and quiet.  I was more than a little impressed that he could muscle through our evening as he did.  Despite my reason for being there, our underlying admiration for each other was strong and we easily talked and laughed for hours over the handmade pizza he’d cooked just for me.

I said all that I needed.  The important things I never get the opportunity to usually say and I got closure, something I never ever get.  He’s a brilliant, but tortured man, and I don’t want to be collateral damage.  I want a man who can handle life’s curve balls with aplomb and a positive attitude.

Perhaps had we been dating for more than a mere 4 weeks when this wave hit us I would find a way of working through it with him – perhaps he’d have wanted me to – but it was too soon and we both knew I didn’t owe him anything while he suffered alone in the dark questioning his ever even being open in the future again and wondering when he’d ever feel normal again.

I’m grateful to have met him and to have experienced what it feels like to melt into someone, to breathe his breath and feel so safe in it.  It was fleeting – a mere blip on the radar – but my hope is that this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.  Only time will tell if our tide will ever be high again.