These faded flowers
I’m glad I met my ex.
I’m glad we dated.
Because through him, I learned more about myself. I asked myself some hard questions, and found one of the strongest temptations to me, one that I might sell my soul for. That I nearly did sell it for.
And through him, I connected with someone I later met in person, and who has become a dear friend. And through that person I met another friend who registered from the first as part of my “Tribe” (despite a rather amusing introduction story that included an attempt to dislocate a shoulder and a death threat), and yet another dear friend (also “Tribe”, along with the others) who gives me cluebricks as needed.
And this first dear friend also introduced me to the man who is now my boyfriend, in what is probably one of the sanest, calmest, happiest matches of my life. The trait that’s pissed off everyone else I’ve ever dated? He regards as positive. I confess to something I’m ashamed of, though it’s in no way my fault? He’s calm and supportive and says exactly the right thing and confuses me horribly because I don’t know how to handle it… but I like it. I’m scared to death and still twitching and even bleeding from my scars and wounds, but he’s there; I can feel him, sort of, solid and patient and calm.
And without my ex, without the “specialness” from what pass for friends with him, without his complete volatility and imbalance and inability to self-regulate, I wouldn’t appreciate what I have now in my friends — true friends — and my boyfriend. I mean, I would, but there is a richness to it now, an understanding of exactly how fortunate I am to have these wonderful people in my life. I might have met these same people, but through a different route and the result would not have been the same.
So thank you, my demon. Your path will not be easy, I’m afraid, though mine will be the easier and richer for having known and loved and been torn to shreds by you. There is nothing more I can do to help you, though you have helped me; know that I am grateful.
These faded flowers
Precious as memory
A veil of cloud
Correct as energy
We had some good machines
But they don’t work no more
I loved you once…