Steven Michael Kudelko

Three years ago during the holiday season my life changed completely, and while I never thought something as dramatic and romantic and fulfilling as that would ever happen again, something of equal impact happened today. For two years now I’ve been trying to force my way back into the life of a girl who once loved me. And I ask myself why? There are the obvious reasons…. I miss her, I love her, I want to be there to watch her grow and change and experience life, to take care of her and catch her when she falls. But.. by doing any of that, am I doing what I really, truly want to be doing, which is giving her the best life one could possibly have? No, I’m not.

At a time that feels like just yesterday, I sat in a coffee shop a week before Christmas as a young girl who I hadn’t spoke to in a long time sat next to me. We weren’t sitting opposite one another, like acquaintances sit when having lunch at a diner. At a square table, she sat in the chair that was 90 degrees to the right of mine. And while we caught up and told stories and gossiped, and I took silly photos with my cell phone camera that would still show up to this day if she ever called me again, a relationship that I had wanted forever but didn’t even know truly existed… something that I had by then resigned was just a work of fiction to get boyfriends and girlfriends into a movie theater… blossomed. As her current boyfriend protectively dropped by and I watched them kiss directly in front of me, I cringed. I knew he wasn’t the right guy for her. I loved her. Whatever he felt… whatever he called it… it wasn’t true love. And so over the course of the holiday we became so intertwined that by the time the affair was called off by her in a devastating act on New Year’s Eve, our lives and hearts were too interlinked to successfully be separated. So began the most exhausting process in the world…. the process of loving someone with every ounce of your being.

That winter season was as if her and I were two magnets, and some higher power just decided to toss us around in his hand… sometimes sucking us together in and instant, and sometimes repelling us apart so that no free will or human intervention could prevent the forces of nature keeping us apart. We laughed and cried, kissed and shared, planned futures both together and separate. We had our ideal plan, and our backup plan. She left and came around. I tried to forget her, tried to move on. What seemed so impossible at that time, two years ago…. removing this girl from my heart and my soul…. was infinitely easier then than it is now. And yet, for some reason, we ended up together. One day she just randomly decided that enough was enough, and I was made her boyfriend. The passion had never stopped, but now it didn’t need to be hidden.

The first time we slept in the same bed, we held hands the entire night. I remember the feeling of her breath on the tip of my nose, and the natural smell of her body that I just absolutely adored. When she smiled at me back then, it could light up a basement room with no cracks in the walls for any light to sneak in. That love was so real, it was unescapable. Together, isolated from the world around us, we fit together like a puzzle. It was if we had been created by God as one solid piece, and then cut apart and dropped in two separate places on the Earth, and given the task of finding our way back to one another. Then the world around us started to enter. We had our first fight, our first temporary separation, the conflict as to who had better friends, who was more dedicated to our collective “us”, who loved who more. But it didn’t matter, because even after those fights, even in the coldest moments or the darkest of times, we still both loved each other.

Then over the course of time, I lost her. I failed to continue to impact her and impress her the way others around her did, and love wasn’t enough. It wasn’t strong enough to keep the outside forces from invading and changing and alienating her. Do I believe she now is a natural progression of who she was then? No. I think that somewhere in the process of normal human growth and evolution, she was dramatically influenced and manipulated by a force darker than any of the horrible things we had experienced as a couple, and that changed her view on us. It changed her smile. The same smile that she gives now, the same facial reaction she has to what and who she currently loves… it’s not the same. It’s not as pure, and innocent, and real. It’s forced, strained, tired. She’s been through a lot, and she shows it in every word she writes, every expression she gives, and every decision she makes. And all I ever wanted in life was to be beside her when she made those decisions, if not so I could help guide her along, having believed that in our extremely passionate and deep love affair I’d gotten to the very core of her being and learned who she really was, then so I could at least always know who she was. I don’t know who she is anymore. I’m denied that privilege by my own failure to accept a breakup, or properly support her, or just because the people who influence her now don’t like me. Whatever the true reason, the reality is that I am incapable to force myself back in. And even if I was, it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. It wouldn’t be real.

Our real love was a result of a girl in a beautiful red coat looking into the eyes of an awkward boy who didn’t even know that she remembered him. It was the result of holding hands every time we could, kissing each other at each red light when we were in the car, and exploring each other’s bodies not because we were perverted or addicted or vulgar, but because we were so in love that we wanted to memorize every single inch of each other. The sad thing is that my stomach cramps up at the thought that she has forgotten everything about me, her stomach most likely cramps up at the thought that I still vividly remember every single inch of her.

I’m scarred by the fact that I truly fell in love with someone who I couldn’t be with forever. We made mistakes, and we weren’t given the opportunity to deal with them alone, to therapeutically heal and move on and make new plans. Instead, she had a life she had to live, and had to instantly jump back into it and be okay. I had lost my life because she had became my life, so while she aggressively moved on to the next target of her heartbeat, I sat idly and replayed everything that ever transpired between us over and over in my head. I was so badly bruised and hurt and abandoned that I questioned every word she ever said to me, making it even worse. All I wanted was reinforcement, an apology, a “do-over.” But I pushed too hard and pushed her away.

I still remember one of the last times we were together. I had brought her back to school after Easter vacation, and had just finished helping her carry her laundry back to her dorm room. As the elevator went to the ground floor, she kissed me on the neck and held me in her arms. It wasn’t as passionate as we used to be. But it was real. And in that kiss, in that second or two of time, I knew that what we had was real. I knew that what we shared and experienced with each other was so powerful that there was no way in the world that it could ever completely die.

While we may not talk now, and she may not have salvaged a single remnant or reminder of our time together, and the uncertainty of that keeps the tears flowing every single night as my head rests on the pillow in my big, cold, empty bed, I am confident that every kiss was legitimate. And it never felt fake anytime we held hands. We were truly in love with each other, and we shared a deep bond that can’t be broken by breakups and manipulation and trauma and fear. It can only be hidden, suppressed, suffocated. And instead of pushing and pushing and begging her to find that love again, I need to truly love her myself.

She deserves to smile the way she used to, and so now I wish that her new boyfriend can make her. I pray that he kisses her at every stoplight when they are in the car, and that she smacks him in the ass every time he’s walking up the stairs with a hot cup of coffee. I hope they experience those cute, sentimental memories that may seem so insignificant and stupid and pointless to everyone except the two that experienced them together, because I know, deep down in her heart, if she ever reads this, and she is truly herself, she’ll remember and she’ll feel and she’ll love, if only for a fraction of a second. I hope that someday he can bring back her natural smile, and erase the years of running and searching and scars that has been woven into the way she speaks to and treats other people. I hope that in the privacy of their own bedroom, late at night, when they share their final kiss for the night, that she is truly happy. Because if she is, then I have no reason to continue to force my way into her life.

For so long, I’ve wanted to remind her that I’ll always be here for her. I’ve just wanted her to know… to be aware… to remember. I promised her that I’d be the first person she ever met that wouldn’t abandon her, that wouldn’t give up on her, that would love her eternally… and even if she’s not in my life anymore, that doesn’t mean that I broke that promise. I still love her, I’d still do anything for her. Still, two years after extreme depression and abuse and psychological hell, she is still the first thought that pops into my head in the morning, that puts a smile on my face and propels me out of bed. I hope she’s in love now, and she is happy, and I hope that never ends. I hope she never has to feel pain or abandonment or sadness again. I hope there is always someone to put their arm around her when she’s cold, to brace her forehead when she’s crying, to hold her hand when she’s scared. I hope that the boyfriend that she has now gives her everything she’s ever wanted in life, because even though she left me, that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t deserve the world. I truly love her, and once I realized that, I realize that it isn’t about me. Maybe I have to cry in order for her to be happy. Maybe I have to be alone so that she may be together with someone else. Maybe there a finite amount of pain and love in this world, and in order to keep things in balance, she had to hurt me in order for someone else not to hurt her.

I’m not saying I’m a martyr. I’m far from it. I’m a damaged, sensitive, psychological mess from Western Pennsylvania that isn’t able at this current time to give her what she wants or deserves. But I can love, and pray, and hope. I can put out positive energy and hope that she experiences everything the world has to offer, and has someone by her side to do it. It’s been two years since I’ve been able to buy her a Christmas gift, and I don’t have much to give anymore. So I guess my gift to her is that I’ll stop trying. I’ll stop trying to force myself into her life. I won’t periodically e-mail her or text her or do something to get her attention, just so she remembers I’m alive, and that I love her. I won’t selfishly ask her to consider my feelings, what I’m left to deal with as a result of our mistakes. I won’t hold her feet to the fire because she promised to love me forever, and instead abandoned me when things got tough. Maybe she had to. Maybe she was meant to. It’s not like I’m any stronger than her. I’m just stronger in different ways. Instead of having the strength to forbid myself to communicate with her, to have been able to bow out gracefully and wish her the best and been satisfied with being distant friends who might wish each other happy birthday each year and occasionally say hello, I’ve been strong enough to deal with the horrible, horrible pain of having lost her, and not killed myself yet. I could have very easily taken the easy way out, and never cried again, never have had that tightness in my chest again, or have had a panic attack when seeing someone she’s friends with again…. but then I would have broken the promise to always be there, just in case.

I’m no longer going to fight my way into her life and force myself in. It hasn’t worked so far, even though she’s always been worth the fight. Because I remember that kiss on the neck in the elevator, and the sound of her voice when she’d call me at 3:00 in the morning after all her friends had turned in for the night and she had no one else to say goodnight to, and I remember the look in her eyes every single time we were together. What we had was so real, that she’ll always know that I love her, and she’ll always remember, if she’s ever in a serious enough bind, that I’ll be there to help her, to care for her, or nurse her back to health. She knows. Deep down, in the very bottom of her heart, what we had exists. It was way too powerful not to. Hopefully she never has to rely on me. Hopefully who she is with now will keep her happy and loved and fulfilled for the rest of her life, and she’ll never cry, or miss anyone, or feel abandoned. Hopefully he does a better job than I did. She deserves that. I truly hope that he loves her a thousand times more than I ever could, because if he doesn’t, she needs to be with someone that does.

I resign my fight for her because it’s what she deserves. She doesn’t deserve to be reminded of everything I didn’t do for her, or everything I couldn’t give her. She needs to be in the present with the guy who is making her knees buckle and her heart beat fast every time she walks by. I was lucky enough to love someone like her, and have her love me back, if only for a little while, and that’s more than I’ve ever deserved. It was a huge gift from whatever higher power is out there, and instead of crying about the moments she isn’t next to me, I should instead be thankful for the moments that she was next to me. We both know how deep our experience was, and if I loved her enough as I needed to, she’ll always remember that I’ll be here, even if she has to be the one to seek me instead of me constantly seeking her.

I still have hope that one day, at random, I’ll see her walking down the street, by herself, and our eyes will lock and that spark will ignite the fire right where we left off. I’ll always hope that I share the rest of my life with her, because it kills me that we’ve already missed so much of each other’s lives as it is. But at the same time, I also, at the same time, hope that the boyfriend she has now never leaves her side and keeps her warm and safe forever, because she deserves love and happiness a lot more than I do, and at the end of the day, as long as she’s safe, and happy, and loved, that’s all I could ever want. Sometimes I’m just selfish enough to wish that it was me that could provide her with that. But on this Christmas, the only gift I can give her, the only thing I have left of me to give her, is that as long as she continues to hate me, I’ll never forcefully or intentionally ruin a moment of her life with the thought of me.

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