Closure is a weird thing. It’s refreshing and daunting at the same time. It’s final. It’s formal. It’s such a fucking relief.
A lot of people relate closure to grief or a relationship. My personal closure is a combination of both. I was grieving for a relationship that I could not have.
Ask any of my close friends and they will tell you that, for at least five years, I have been infatuated with a particular woman.
She was my teenage lust obsession, my muse and my adult mindfuck.
I genuinely thought that one day she would wake up and realise that she had been madly in love with me for years. In reality, she has never looked at me that way and never will. She loves me, there is no doubt about that; but it isn’t the way I wanted her to.
I used to be wide awake at night, crying because she didn’t like me. I’d freeze when I saw her at school and if she spoke to me I’d stutter and stammer and say offensive things so she didn’t think I liked her. I was besotted. It was love. Not just a crush and after some time it became more than lust. That kind of heartache so young was harrowing.
As an adult, our relationship changed. We became closer and my love for her grew stronger and more real. I no longer admired her from her pedestal position; I was realistic about her and what the future held for us. I still couldn’t let go but I managed to distance myself from my feelings.
My feelings, however irrational and pathetic, returned at full force and consumed me. I couldn’t and didn’t want to deal with them.
Until today when fate intervened and I was finally given closure. I can’t explain why it’s happened. Stupid amounts of coincidences happened and they felt right. They were telling me to let go so I did.
This closure lark is great.