the painful length of these short memories

Three years and eighteen days ago I met a most interesting person. We didn't live anywhere close to each other, but we'd talk on the phone (something I abhor in any other circumstance) for hours on end almost every day, and eventually one of us would take a trip to see the other about once a month. I fell in love with him, the idea of him, the place he's from, the family he belongs to, and everything about who he is. We took a 12 hour road trip together when we first met, and then went snowboarding almost everyday for about a week. We've watched countless movies together and commented on all the insignificant details and then laughed at the most morbid of scenes. We went to a drive in movie theater. We've watched fireflies hover over the woods by my house after hiking part of the Appalachian Trail for several days. We went rock climbing, after which he bought me a climbing harness (as well as many other outdoor-lover items). He 'surprised' me on my birthday and took me to dinner at the Roof and after which we walked around the Salt Lake Temple Square. We went and did baptisms for the dead at the Provo temple the morning of my birthday. He was even willing and perhaps excited to participate in chucking bails of hay with my family during one really hot summer day. He taught me how to surf. We read the scriptures together while sitting on the San Diego temple grounds. We've gone for drives and taken long and short walks together, among myriads of other things.

Then he went on a mission finally, something I was so excited about for various reasons. I knew he'd grow so much and have unforgettable experiences. Then I went on a mission. We wrote to each other for part of the time; we sent pictures and exchanged stories and principles we were learning about as we studied and taught the Gospel. He came home two years later, I came home six months after he did, and we weren't sure where things stood between us. We decided to find out, both of us quite unsure and quite nervous. I might argue that I was the most worried about it all, but I don't know exactly what was going on in his mind as I waited for him in the airport last Tuesday afternoon.

I guess I wasn't sure what I was expecting. Maybe I was thinking everything would be the same, or just hoping, really. I've only been home two months and I'm probably still a little socially awkward. Well, I was when he first got here. Things were weird for the first couple of days, and I wasn't sure how to act around him, even though I'd gotten so used to him two and a half years before. We finally talked about it one night. It seemed like things were going in the right direction. We were holding hands again and even cuddling during movies. Things still weren't quite like I remembered, and I think it was still a mental thing rather than anything awkward physically. My feelings were quite the same, and my worries and concerns about him had completely dissipated. I used to worry about his weaknesses and his personal problems, but for some reason those things stopped really bothering me. I trusted him and I just worked on having the faith that he'd be fine and the Lord would take care of him and me, regardless of what problems would arise and how the outcomes would end up.

Monday night seemed as if it changed everything. We went to a movie. Then we came home and my mom was still awake because she couldn't sleep. I really wanted to be able to sit and talk to him alone in the living room but my mom was in there watching TV. It would have been weird to go just about anywhere else in the house since it's all open and my mom would have been able to hear our conversation from where she was, and going in one of the bedrooms to talk seemed in my mind like it would have been kinda weird too. So we gathered a bunch of blankets together and slipped out of my bedroom window to sit on the roof and look at the stars in the 20 degree weather. When we got too cold we came back in and sat on the floor in my room still bundled and wrapped in blankets trying to warm back up. I learned a lot from our conversation, and some pieces of this puzzle came together in my head finally.

He claimed to have changed a lot during his mission. He said that his head and his heart just aren't always on the same page now. Logically he should like me and want to pursue a relationship with me, but his heart doesn't seem to have those feelings in it all the time. During one telephone conversation we'd had before his trip here, he had admitted a to having feelings for another girl. We weren't anything exclusive, but it just seemed like an unspoken rule that we sort of were, even though we could still date around for fun. I didn't think it was right to keep him bound and gagged until I came home and got back to normal life. But as I noticed the timing of this girl appearing in the scenes and various other thoughts and ideas that bounced around in my head, I felt pretty hurt. It wasn't until I'd returned home from my mission that he got so involved with her and he didn't tell me until after he was involved with her. That kind of screws things up. See, before the mission, we'd decided to try and pick up where we left off when we got home. But that couldn't really happen, not now. He never intended to hurt my feelings or break my heart (of course, that's what they always say, and I always believe it too because I'm such a sucker), but he just went about things a bit wrong or backwards. I'm not usually the jealous type, but it's hard not to be. I feel like I never even had a chance here. This other girl is from England, and who can compete with a pretty girl who has a British accent? Not me, that's for sure. I'm pretty average comparatively: no accent, I live in the middle of nowhere, I have no friends, and no job. Whoa. That actually makes me sound below average. Great. So I've been really trying to be good natured about all of this. It's just really hard, mostly because I'm tired of finally trusting some one and then getting my heart broken. It seems to be the story of my life when it comes to relationships; well, since high school anyway. Either I'm just not into the guy to begin with and I try to be anyway, or I end up really liking him and then he stops being interested in me. I guess if I'd finally found something that worked out I wouldn't be in this predicament and that's why it seems like this always happens.

So we talked and talked and came to the conclusion that we just weren't going to work out. Okay, he's the one that came to that conclusion. I kept on wanting to just punch him in the face or throw hard, blunt, painful objects at him then say some rather rude things to him. He agreed that he deserved that for treating me whatever way he did. We talked about all of this until about 7am, when we both ended up falling asleep on the floor in my room. I woke up an hour and a half later, wishing I could just go back to sleep to pass the time until I had leave to bring him to the airport, about 4:30pm.

I was expecting to sit around for a few more awkward hours trying to keep myself together until I could deal with everything how I prefer--alone. So I began writing this blog and listening to music to keep my mind occupied. I was still in my pajamas with a blanket wrapped around me, my hair still in it's slept-on pony tail and my eyes a little bloodshot. I probably looked like I'd been hit by a truck due to lack of sleep for the past week and how upset I was. He comes downstairs after he's done packing and sits down on the edge of the bed behind me and starts to say something. I quickly logged off the computer and moved to sit down next to him to try to figure out what the problem was this time. I was just so tired and so frustrated and upset that it took all of my concentration to simply sit and half-listen.

Then I saw the tears falling out of his eyes. After a moment of listening to him try to talk quietly and express some feelings I just said, "Let's go back upstairs." I suggested the idea mostly so we could hopefully get more privacy to talk and my mom wouldn't come barging in on anything quite so personal. I went up and brushed my teeth then quickly showered and dressed, after which we sat on the floor in my room once again to continue this long process that really seemed so over done that it was getting us no where.

Here's my problem: I'm a sucker for love. When I care for someone, I'm entirely forgiving if the person is sincere. I care about this guy so much that I'll always forgive him when he really apologizes. I'm also aware of the emotional struggles he deals with inside himself, and in light of that I'm even more forgiving and understanding than normal. This next conversation consisted of figuring out why things took the sudden abrupt turn they did the previous night. He was suddenly unsure of the choice he made and didn't want things to be permanently how they wound up. As soon as he said that I wanted to scream. I think there's only so much of all this one person can take. This time I pulled the Gospel into it. I got out some old letters and journal entries from before and during my mission. I had him read some of the letters he'd sent to me, proving that his feelings hadn't changed until months after his mission. I told him he couldn't serve two masters at once and after some digging, I discovered that the problem wasn't that he didn't like me anymore, but he was just battling with his own internal decisions. Metaphorically, it's like this: He's like a little kid and here he has his favorite toy, one that he loves so much and always comes back to play with it no matter what other toys he's given. One day he gets a brand new fun and shiny toy and forgets briefly about his old favorite toy that he's come to love so much. He even thinks this new thing might be better than the old one. But over time the shine in that new toy will fade and he'll end up with that favorite old toy again.

We figured out that he was really just fighting with his natural tendency to rebel against what he knows is right. To put it crudely and maybe selfishly, I've been the light of truth here and the one who's been right all along, and this other girl has been that rebel desire, more or less. That sounds awful, yes, but essentially that's what it comes down to. Here we've known each other just over for three years, and he'd known this girl for three weeks or so when he made the rash decision that maybe she was the better one instead. I even brought up that I could take this as a forewarning of one day being married and finding out my spouse likes someone else. It all starts because they let their mind wander a little and entertain some ideas. I told him he couldn't do that if he was going to be true in marriage one day. And I know we're just dating and that dating is different. But it still worries me because he's the one who broke those rules we had for ourselves.

Really, his internal struggles are much like mine in a lot of ways. He just handles them differently. I know what's right and wrong, and even though I seem to always want to do what's wrong I always end up doing what's right--what I'm supposed to do. He does too, but he just goes through more pain than I do to finally get to what's right. He even said that if he had, hypothetically, ended up married with this other girl, he feels like he'd one day he would have gone less-active in the church and just wouldn't have been as strong as he needs to be. I suppose he didn't say that it'd be the opposite effect with me but he inferred it.

I told him he didn't have to make any decisions immediately, and that I wasn't in any rush for anything. He felt otherwise. He repented sufficiently, and realized how silly he'd been to assume so much so quickly. He's decided that he wants me. After all his deliberation and fickle back-and-forth choices, he's realized that I am the one he wants to be with and it's been that way all along. He was just ignoring what he knew was right, even when the Spirit was telling him so. He cried a bit. I chastised him some more. Then I forgave him. Am I glutton for punishment or what?

As we sat there quietly talking about what just happened, I thought about not writing this blog anymore. But he told me to finish it. He said he wanted to read it. Maybe he thinks my family ought to know what all happened and what I'm getting myself into. So I'm not sure what you're thinking right now, whether I'm smart or an absolute moron, or if you've got some other words in mind. But I'm not sure that it all matters a lot to me at the moment, although I respect and trust my family's opinions. Some choices are just going to be mine.

I guess to finish, I'll have to end this accurately.

We never kissed before our missions. That was an unnecessary distraction neither of us needed three years ago. However, now we're both home, and I've waited that whole time just wishing and hoping that one day we would. Still in my room, we sat there for a moment cross-legged on the floor looking at each other, my hands in his. He pulled me in and our cheeks and noses touched for a long moment. All of a sudden I had butterflies in my stomach. Then I realized those butterflies were everywhere--in my chest, arms, and legs too. He paused, his lips less than an inch from mine, and as if the timing weren't perfect, my mom calls upstairs to me. I let out a small gasp of a laugh, then smiled patiently and responded to whatever question she was asking me. Thanks, mom. After she ended her oblivious intrusion, I carefully placed my face back where it was before the distraction, and we briefly discussed the 'rules' we previously had and decided they were out of date.

I don't know if anyone has ever experienced when something fits together perfectly, like the correct pieces of a puzzle. That's how my hands fit in his, how it feels to hug him, how I fit underneath his arm when it's around me, how my height is perfect for his chin to rest on my head when I stand close to him, how it feels every time he holds me.

The second his lips touched mine it felt like I'd waited forever for that to finally happen, and all I could think of as we kissed was the word 'eternity'. It felt right. It felt like what I imagine eternity is supposed to feel like--not necessarily that it'd be with him--just how I think it ought to feel. I couldn't help myself and smiled and blushed and started giggling. It was worth every second and hour and year that I waited, and worth all the heartache I felt over the last twenty-four hours.

Satan really works hard to destroy what's good and right and ruin the truth.

I believe that this is proof of that.