Hope is such a dangerous condition.

When you realise there’s still a part of you that hasn’t let go…

It has been over seven months since the end of our three year relationship. Seven difficult yet eye-opening months and although I have a better understanding of why our relationship wasn’t working, it doesn’t make it any easier to process that we’re not together and that we’re potentially never getting back together.

That’s where hope lies… In a period where I have done all the normal and abnormal rituals of a breakup, part of me thought: with time this will be a thing of the past and I can move on.

That’s mostly true.

There will come a time when the old hurts will stop stinging quite as much and failures will stop beating down at my confidence but in all that, I’m also increasingly aware that as time moves forward, the more I find out who I am (and who I want to be) the hope– that dream that I have in my heart remains strong and resolute despite the positive and negative encouragement from friends, family and my own internal musings about moving on with someone else.

That dream I have becomes clearer every time I allow myself, in my moments of weakness, to dwell on it. A large home, full of light and laughter. Cliche, I know, but I see it so very distinctly:

Little feet on dark wooden floorboards. Big pet dog slobbering on the fluffy fur rug he has taken ownership of. Wood shavings rolling in the draft of the workshop. Muddy boots, big and small, littering the entrance. Lingering kisses before a night out with friends.

“That’s a future yet to come”, my hope tells me.

Hope doesn’t tell me that I can’t have that future but it also doesn’t guarantee that that future will include him.

It doesn’t have to be him and yet in the solitude of my bedroom, curled up on our bed – the one he spent two days making with his bare hands and no sleep – I cling on to the hope that it will be him.

The confusion of our current circumstances don’t take away from whom I know he is and whom I know he’ll grow to be.

Where we stand in this moment in time is him, seeking freedom and peace outside of the 24/7 responsibilities he has committed himself to for everyone in his life — people whom can easily live without him but don’t want to carry their own burdens, so they, just as easily cast it on him to bear.

Whilst I am seeking to be able to love him unconditionally, support him without reserve and be the comfort that he seeks at the end of a long a weary day. Something I feel I failed to do when we were together.

My desire isn’t entirely altruistic. I need to love him as much as I need him to love me and I need his company as much as I need to breath sometimes.

I keep wanting to create a bubble where only him and I exist and I had often asked God when we were together if I could keep him for eternity. I still haven’t received an answer that I like.

I was an only child for 3 years of my life, so sharing isn’t something I do very well.

I can only trust that God will get us both to where He wants us and despite them being my dreams for the future, my prayer remains that God’s will prevails above my own desires because if he doesn’t want the same thing, then I can’t take that choice away from him and I know God wouldn’t do it either.

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