Lucy Thatcher (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} paperlucy) wrote,@ 2008-04-04 18:42:00 |
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Regret
Maybe it's silly for me to dwell on things that happened almost a decade ago. They seem so insignificant when compared with my life today. But I also think that I'm lucky to be able to say one of my only regrets happened so long ago.
Jack didn't know I loved him, but I did. He was three years my senior (my 18 to his 21) and I'm quite certain that he didn't love me. After all, he was engaged during our several month long tryst. I regret giving him my body. I regret that he was my first. Sure, at the time, I thought that he was madly in love with me. He told me he thought I was a genius about Chekhov and Zhukovsky. We were intellectual equals, challenging each other late into the night until the wine was gone and the ashtray was full of cigarettes. He told me that I had the most beautiful neck, arms, breasts, feet. I now realize it was just flattery to keep me coming back. His fiance lived in Leeds and he was lonely, that's really what it came down to.
And I was an idiot young girl who had never been outside of Henley or lived on her own. I was relishing my new freedom at university and I felt it was natural that Jack should be so enamoured with me. I also thought all great writers needed to have a lover, and he was Dante Rossetti to my Fanny Cornforth.
His desertion was the most painful thing I had ever experienced and it made me realize my naivety. I became guarded with my body and my heart. I grew out of that quickly, giving over to anyone who looked at me the right way, but I never loved them. Like I said, it seems silly that I was so deeply affected by something that happened nearly ten years ago now, but I honestly have not loved anyone like I loved Jack. I am becoming fearful that I never will.
Maybe it's silly for me to dwell on things that happened almost a decade ago. They seem so insignificant when compared with my life today. But I also think that I'm lucky to be able to say one of my only regrets happened so long ago.
Jack didn't know I loved him, but I did. He was three years my senior (my 18 to his 21) and I'm quite certain that he didn't love me. After all, he was engaged during our several month long tryst. I regret giving him my body. I regret that he was my first. Sure, at the time, I thought that he was madly in love with me. He told me he thought I was a genius about Chekhov and Zhukovsky. We were intellectual equals, challenging each other late into the night until the wine was gone and the ashtray was full of cigarettes. He told me that I had the most beautiful neck, arms, breasts, feet. I now realize it was just flattery to keep me coming back. His fiance lived in Leeds and he was lonely, that's really what it came down to.
And I was an idiot young girl who had never been outside of Henley or lived on her own. I was relishing my new freedom at university and I felt it was natural that Jack should be so enamoured with me. I also thought all great writers needed to have a lover, and he was Dante Rossetti to my Fanny Cornforth.
His desertion was the most painful thing I had ever experienced and it made me realize my naivety. I became guarded with my body and my heart. I grew out of that quickly, giving over to anyone who looked at me the right way, but I never loved them. Like I said, it seems silly that I was so deeply affected by something that happened nearly ten years ago now, but I honestly have not loved anyone like I loved Jack. I am becoming fearful that I never will.