Who Are You? Who Am I?

In a nasty push-me pull-me with my ex-husband as of late, I pondered: what did I ever see in him? What made me think that we polar opposites with opposite morals and lifestyles could ever be united?

I thought I loved him; I thought he loved me. The reality is that neither of us could ever begin to truly love the other for we had no self-love, for one. Second, we had no respect for each other nor for ourselves. We were like two broken pieces of glass looking to create a vase. We shuttered our eyes from the missing pieces and failed to admit that the faulty lines we glued together was bound to shatter the minute normal use was exerted.

I looked over at him. We sat in the mediator's office, maybe three feet separating us. We've had little contact in over nine years (even though we created a beautiful boy) and this was the closest we've been in proximity since then. I stole glances at him from the side, but he retained his steadfast course of looking straight ahead.

At some point, I turned my whole body toward him and addressed him directly. He followed suit. We locked eyes. And although you might be expecting me to say, I saw a glimpse of the boy I fell in love with or something along those lines, I didn't. But I didn't feel an urge to throttle him either. I experienced a strange neutrality.

I felt no hatred, no anger for I felt as connected to him as greeting a used-to-be person once in my life. Like someone you met at a conference. Once. I almost said, "hey, how you doing?" as if we had no real history.

Something passed his eyes, too. I saw it. But I can't quite place it. It differed from the usual filled-with-wrath looks he shoots my way. But I saw it. It happened. Maybe for a second he put down the poison-filled arrows and took a long look at his enemy and realized. . . he was staring at a stranger.

For as much as we were involved, we evolved into strangers.

© It's All Wanderlust 2010