“Beautiful stranger, here you are, in my arms and I know
that beautiful strangers only come along to do me wrong and I hope
beautiful stranger here you are in my arms
but I think it’s finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe for me to fall…”
~ Halsey, “Finally//Beautiful Stranger”
Words. Have. Power.
We used to talk about that often. How powerful words are.
About how I try not to assign them too much power, because I know they mean more to me than most people. And because some words land differently with me than they do other people.
You were so, so careful to not make any promises from the very beginning. You just wanted to walk this journey together, for as long as we were supposed to. Just focusing on the present moment.
You said you would protect my heart. You said you weren’t like anyone before. That you were different. That I was safe with you. That we were safe with each other.
That it was finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe…for me to fall.
Even up to the bitter end, you assured me that you would be careful and gentle with my heart, because you said I had always been that way with yours. Even as you said goodbye, you insisted you meant every single word you said, and every single thing you did.
But did you?
Did you mean that?
You were on your back deck hanging the bistro lights and I was in your kitchen, washing our dinner dishes when you came in to let me hear the song that just came on…“Our House” by Crosby, Stills & Nash. A song from our shared playlist that we had been creating together for a few months. You simply wanted me to hear it and to give me a kiss before we went back to our chores.
Did you mean that?
You read to me from a book of poetry with your velvet voice at night. And then you wrote me beautiful poems in the early morning light.
Did you mean that?
When I left your house early one morning to make the drive home, it was hushed on your quiet street. You made me a cup of your special coffee to take with me on the drive, and I was juggling it and my “go bag” and my purse when I heard your voice, whisper-shouting to me down the street, “Sweetie! Sweetie! Sweetie!” Getting louder and more insistent in the morning’s echo. And when I turned around, you were blowing kisses to me. That’s all. You didn’t want to say anything…you just wanted to blow me kisses.
Did you mean that?
As we watched the sun set from Flagstaff Mountain one evening, you shared a Keith Urban song with me about God whispering my name and you told me that when you heard it, you knew it was about me. You knew without a doubt.
Did you mean that?
You had let “those three little words” slip a few times. But I knew you hadn’t planned on saying them, so I let them pass me by. They just slipped out as we were texting and as we were talking over video about looking into each other’s “doorways” and seeing each other’s souls. I could tell it was quite by accident and not intentional, so I didn’t hold onto them.
I let them go as easily as you let me go in the end.
But when you said them for real a while later, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear them.
You took my face lovingly in your hands and asked me to look you in the eyes. You asked me to please stop what I was doing because you needed me to truly hear what you wanted to say to me — what you needed to say to me. And it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.
For all the soul-gazing we had done with each other…for all the ways you had looked deep into my eyes over the months before, this was even more intense. Even more intentional. You told me how much you loved me. How beautiful I was. That you had never known a love or a soul connection or a beauty like mine, and you wanted me to know how adored I was…how lucky you felt.
I had never looked away from you before. Not in any of our deepest discussions and confessions and revelations. Not once did I look away. But this was different. I felt like you saw all of me — almost even through me. Through the bullshit facades and masks I had worn for others. You saw right through them and I felt so vulnerable that I tried to look away. But you wouldn’t let me. You held my face so gently and passionately and made sure I took it all in…that I heard everything you were saying and that I felt it in my heart and soul. And I did.
Did you mean that?
You told me again that it was finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe for me to fall.
I did that, too.
A few days before your beautifully heartfelt declaration of love, you liked a few posts on some social media pages we both follow. One about “recognizing her when he saw her and whispering to himself, ‘Finally.’” And another about how amazing it is when you realize that everything you’ve prayed for is here and happening.
Did you mean that?
Because only days after you told me you loved me, I felt your whole entire being pull your energy back. Abruptly and drastically.
I told you it was okay — that I felt your energy pull back…and that it was going to be okay. That we had both just let go of marriages we had been in since we were 24 years old — half our lives. And it was okay.
I reassured you that I could hear those loving words you offered to me and accept them…and not attach promises to them.
I reminded you that I was not asking for anything. That I had never asked you for anything. That I was buying a new home in my town and you had just moved into your new home in your town an hour away. That we had five children between us, including younger ones that would keep us where we were for years to come.
I reassured you that I wasn’t asking you for any commitments or promises or anything more than what you had always asked from me…to simply enjoy our time together in the present moment, without worrying about anything else.
I told you, “I got you. I will protect your heart.”
But in your response, you told me that your heart had slammed on the brakes and that you needed time and space. That you had always meant everything you said — and that “this was not about ending us…that’s not what this was at all.”
Did you mean that?
Immediately after you said that and left my place that morning, I texted you, sadly wondering if this was the last time I would watch you drive away and you replied, “Definitely not,” and that you wanted me in your life for years to come. Words you knew I had heard before.
Did you mean that?
Because it actually was the last time.
And yet, even after you drove away that morning, you would tell me that I was the first person you wanted to talk to in the morning and the last person you wanted to talk to at night.
Did you mean that?
The few video chats we shared during the time and space I lovingly gave you made it even harder. You would stare at me and tell me I had never looked more beautiful and that this was hard on you, too. That you missed me. You missed my energy and wanted to be near me again and in my space with me.
Did you mean that?
During that “patient wait” you kept talking about how you looked forward to helping me settle into my new home. I told you that every time I took another friend to see the model of my townhouse, this song or that song from our playlist was playing on the overhead speakers and I told you that it made me feel reassured that I was making the right decision. And you agreed and said you saw yourself working on weekend projects with me in the townhouse.
Did you mean that?
Because when it finally, finally, finally, finally, finally came time for us to see each other again, you told me over a video-chat that you had to let me go instead.
And I had zero interest in convincing you otherwise.
I was no longer in the business of hustling for my worthiness.
Not again.
Never. Again.
Your flowery, soul-level words…that were once shared so passionately…had turned into mixed messages that only caused hurt and pain, and that was the only answer my heart needed.
I am the first one to always tell someone that they should do what their soul needs them to do. Full stop.
And I still believe that.
But what hurt was the way you chose to end it. To end us.
During that final video chat, you agreed that what we had shared together deserved a better ending than what a screen could offer. And that I definitely deserved better. That you would absolutely come say goodbye in person and end our brief journey together in the loving way that I deserved. That we deserved.
Did you mean that?
Because you changed your mind on that, too, and decided to say your final goodbye over a fucking text, telling me that we had said all there was to say. But in actuality, you were the only one who had a chance to say anything.
In the end, I wasn’t offered the same grace and respect that I had always given you so freely.
You told me more than once that I gave you back your heart. You thanked me so sweetly for giving you back your heart in a way that you said you didn’t think was possible, likening yourself to the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. You told me that you never thought you could open your heart like that again.
Did you mean that?
Because when you chose the ending you did, your heart suddenly didn’t feel like the same heart I had known and loved.
And I was left wondering what lesson the Universe was trying to teach me.
I’m still wondering.
I know it will reveal itself…someday.
But make no mistake…
You broke my heart after I gave you back yours.
And you broke it into a million pieces.
And now I need you to know…
Beautiful Stranger,
Words. Have. Power.
Your words — and your actions that had always been so perfectly aligned with everything you said — were confident and bold and measured carefully and given freely and spoken consciously, without any doubts. They were passionate and always, always, always uttered with conviction.
Until they changed — seemingly overnight — and then many of those words instantly lost their power for me.
You changed that for me as quickly and as easily as you changed your mind (Or was it your heart?)
But I’m going to take back that power now, Beautiful Stranger.
And those words.
Because it’s time to write a new story.
This time, without any Beautiful Strangers.
This time…just for me.