literature i love

The third time we decided we wouldn’t date,

I stood up from the grass with just a single thought in my mind:

“Word I had no one left but God.”

{from Robert Frost’s Bereft}

We could talk about why that came to my mind, but let’s start with why it didn’t: I am not, in fact, alone. I live with my friends.  I go to the temple.  I work.  I talk.  I shop.

But there is a sure feeling that my heart has been halved.  I feel as if I have been assigned to a period of grief.  I can’t say how long it will be.  I just know that I feel so indescribably and so darkly alone.  It’s the kind of alone that makes you sob so hard the temple worker stops in the middle of an ordinance and holds you.  It’s the kind of alone that’s always on the tip of your tongue, your mind (and on much more than the tip of your heart).  It’s always threatening to spill.

I cry.  A lot.

So I think that poem came to mind 1) because I could do to learn to better rely on God.  But 2) because of the title.  I am bereft.

I don’t want to date and I don’t want to make new friends. I don’t want to talk to people I’ve known for years. I don’t want to think about plans beyond tomorrow or the next day after that.  Too many things change, all the time.  I don’t want to make plans.

So please don’t call me. I know I asked our friend to mention my name to you.  But please don’t call me.  Wait a month, wait a year.  Things might be better then. And then we might be better then.  But until then, do not call. Please, please, do not call.


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