what if i let this what if die?

Death. I have written about a death of a name. How can a name die for you? Good question. Just get involved with a few guys with the same name and they seem to let you down in a heart and gut wrenching way. So much you begin to wonder there might be a tragic flaw in a name. I vowed to never date a man with the name C. I shake a hand with someone attached to this the name. And I cringe. Inside. I hear someone say the name from afar and I stay there. I stay away from them. From those C’s.

After I fell for three men with the same name- I let the name die for me. I ended up being left with a doubled park dumping and an almost broken nose (my doing from a drunken night of debauchery-aftermath due to the break up-see previous blog entry). I was left with a bad highlight job of blonde- I needed a change and some lady I didn't know made me blonde to forget. I was left with him showing up on my doorstep with a b-day present months after he dumped me. And me not wanting him upon my door. He left me with one final email. I never responded. Later I heard he had gone off the deep end. At least I wasn’t left with that.

Another. He left me with one less book on my shelf- my favorite book Unbearable Lightness of Being and wondering what would have ever happened if he had really took a chance. He later found me. And came to give it round. Kissing me upon my doorstep. Anticipation of years made me feel faint. For the first time. But he ran away again. Left me wondering.

For years, I did. Wonder. What ifs from the beginning stages of life sometimes we hold onto to them too long. Until he almost died. And I had to tell him. And wonder until. I couldn’t anymore. The last time I saw him was in hospital room. He might be healthy now. His body. But a fatal flaw of a man who would rather be full of potential than fail is not a tragic hero but a sad estate of affairs. If death doesn’t breath life into your bones into your body nothing will. Needless to say. He let me pass through his life again.

What ifs. Were better for him. He stopped being a what if. After one last summer of living out our past college days of infatuation. I walked down that hall of the cold clinical hallway and pushed the button to the elevator. Wanting to run down the hall and say goodbye. Or just say no. Don’t die. Not now. Because as I walked slowly and purposefully. I never wanted this what if to die. I wanted it to grow and flourish into something. But it had. As it lay lifeless inside of me. In that hospital. The elevators door open. Two faces appear before me. I hesitate. Not sure. If I can. Walk away. For good. I find my place in the elevator as the doors close in slow motion. Closing my view. Smaller each minute. Until it disappears. Dying. The death. Of me wanting it to work. He didn’t die. But we did.