“It’s easy, to fall in love. But it’s so hard, to break somebody’s heart. What seemed like a good idea, has turned in to a battlefield”
I picked up the hammer once more, and took another hard swing at the wall. The vibrations reverberated through my entire skeleton as it made contact with the old victorian plaster . Exhausted tears of sweat trickled down in to the dust mask, my sore hands struggled to take one more swing. “Just half a wall left Jon, come on!” I tried to give myself an internal mental boost. “Don’t let this house break you!” The room was covered in a dusty haze as the rubble cascaded around me. I wondered to myself if this it what being in Syria would feel like. Maybe. Ok, I am over playing the reality for dramatic effect, but that being said the room wouldn’t have looked out-of-place in a scene from lone survivor.
I took a few more powerful swings, and with the chink of the chisel, the plaster fell to the ground. Dust once more clouded the room. I was spent. “I Just want somewhere to fucking relax, I don’t want to be in this fucking shit hole anymore” I don’t want this dusty house, it was a fucking mistake! I hate it”
I collapsed to the floor, and broke in down in tears. The tears weren’t just for the fact I had chosen to spend my saturday looking like an extra in Oliver Twist and that I was totally drained of energy. It was something else. I missed her. I really missed her. In that moment memories of starting this renovation project together flooded in.
I took a photo of the bomb site, caption below – “Babe! Look, I’m destroying shit! Come take your work anger out on this fucking wall! 🙂 .. Wish you were here.
Expect she wasn’t. She was a now a ghost of the romantic times gone by.
There was no sending that message, no delivery, no response and no contact. Strange isn’t it? When someone is in your life for so long, then they are no more, what that does to you.
But they are not in your life anymore, and there is a reason why.
Lea Michele’s beautifully haunting song touched so true on the reality of it all.
It had become a battlefield. Loves battlefield. Finally I waved my white flag and I retreated back to camp. Shell shocked, cut, bruised, and in need of urgent care, I left her in agony on the frontline. I trampled fast through the mud in the opposite direction as she held her heart in her hands, fighting for her life. There was no turning back to stop the bleeding and carry her back to safety.
I know of some of you may have been in this situation. When so wounded and almost out of blood yourself, you make a life decision to keep on walking. Selfish as it is, you choose not to return to the battlefield and save your partner in crime. You know by turning your back, you will never be able to return to that place, ever.
When you’re finally safe in camp, and the doctors have stitched and stabilized those wounds. You found yourself surrounded by your comrades. They smile and pat you on the back for being a hero. And as you receive your bravery medal for standing strong in the face of adversity, You cant help but cry.
What if I had gone back? Could I of saved her? Would she still be there? Why didn’t I save her? How could it end this way? Will I ever see her again?
Was it my job to save her? No. We were fighting on different sides. She had to save herself, and if she couldn’t her team would hopefully come pull her from the trenches. It was once my job, but now no longer. Yet here it seemed, the rules of engagement were almost impossible to follow.
As gunfire whistled past us, in those final moments it was the need for love, the need for connection that took away the flags we were bearing and kept us fighting on. All we were was just two human beings, who were in love, who just wanted to be together. Despite bullets ripping us in pieces, that is all that mattered. Pure love, forsaking all else.
The dust settled around the room, and I removed my protective mask. I wiped the tears from my face with the gloves, and began to shovel the rubble in to black refuge sacks. Seven of them in total. I carried them down the stairs like a really shit Santa Claus visiting bad children on Xmas day. I slung the sacks over my back and dumped them one by one in the garden. Fuck you house. With the final sweep up, I looked back at the room. It had been a battlefield. and the remains could be seen everywhere. Yet there was a beauty in taking the old away, and starting afresh, with a stronger sturdier wall.
I had survived another day without it breaking me. I smiled.