This La Neta post is my personal Valentine card to all the loveless, and you know who you are. You check your email and Facebook and inspect your cell phone until you put holes in those things. You could write the Encyclopedia Britannica of social network stalking, including all the pages and posts of everyone in his retinue, knowing that his best friend or his brother always has that camera ready, and you religiously discover new ways to eat out your own heart as he smiles for the camera, his arm squeezing the waist of his new flame, her eyes shining as she poses in the protective cleft of his embrace where you once stood, or never stood, and her nails are done in his favorite color, and her hip touches his, and you know when they take the photo that she is standing in the halo of the way he smells.
You have the playlist, a sonic altar to the way he made you feel, the beautiful memories that seduce you with their kung fu sorcery, wishing that you could hate him so that you could finally just let it go, and I hope that you never get drunk enough to send it to him, but if you do, there it is, the whisky sob of Ana Gabriel’s, ¿cómo es posible que te quiero, y no me quieras? Or, if you reach back into your grandmother’s record collection, you get Cuco Sánchez’ fat head singing in his unlikely falsetto, y tú que te creías, el rey de todo el mundo… We pour heartbreak straight from the tap in our neighborhoods.
So, okay, you’re down. Flattened on the mat of the ring. And this obsession of yours that’s got you down there, I am on board two hundred percent. There you are, burning, striking the classic self-immolation sunbather’s pose, smiling big for your close-up. This is no time to douse the flames. Listen to me. You need to turn the heat UP.
You can’t have him in your life, but the madness that your life has become since he left you, now THAT is something to appreciate.
What was it? What was is about him? Surely there was something exceptional and amazing if you are reading this from the floor of the ring, bleeding out in such a manner. And you can, you will, and you must populate your life with the essence of what he put in your path that was remarkable and unique. Don’t accept yourself the way you are, but rather parlay the energies of defeat into a new incarnation. Did he compose sonnets? Did he play the accordion? Did he climb mountains? Jump out of planes? Make award-winning omelettes? The things that you were convinced were only in your life because he placed them there: if you are capable of admiring these aspects in another, you are capable of creating them in yourself.
Heartbreak tastes like iron pyrite, like the metal and salt of your own blood. He is not here for you now, and perhaps he never was. You deserve to be loved by someone who loves you back just as fiercely, and to move past your infatuation with your thankless shadow prince. But if that is not possible, then you still have more to learn from what he is trying to show you about your life. May the hours, minutes, and seconds of your existence be devoted to the awakening of your next you. It is one the gods’ most terrible gifts that our bodies are the containers of immense passion.
Please don’t waste a single drop.