Holding it, it is no longer there

I watched Jane Eyre again, possibly for the fifth time. The scene in this beautiful movie that never fails to wrench my heart is when Rochester begs Jane to be with him after their thwarted wedding. Apart from Jane's agonizing struggle to choose self-respect over passion, Rochester's intense helplessness, and watching both their hearts breaking at once, I just realised what it is that really gets to me in this scene.

Rochester, unable to change Jane's mind, sinks to his knees and physically clings on to her, pressing his forehead against her in utter helplessness and desperation, completely unable to reach her soul.


And I recognise it. I had been there.

The last moment I had been totally and absolutely in love with a man, I was holding on to him one last, desperate time, my forehead pressed against his chest as I wept, knowing that no matter how much I cried and how much I hurt, I could not reach his soul anymore. He was physically there, but he was gone, and try as I may, physically and desperately clinging on to him wouldn't bring him back.

Still, I held on, unable to stop the tears from flowing and unable to stop myself from wanting him; him, so patiently and so softly holding me, and waiting for me to be ready to let go.

There is no emptier feeling than to physically be with someone you want so badly, yet knowing they are not really there with you, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Five years on, and it hasn't healed completely, and possibly never will. You may stop loving the arm that got torn from you, but you will always bear the scar.

That's what being alive is, isn't it? Feeling your wounds keenly, fingering your scars, trying not to pick at those that have only just scabbed over. Knowing that you'd inflict new wounds upon yourself again, given the chance.