The Last Leo

When I think about the things I’ve accumulated over the years and can’t let go of because of sentiment, I wonder if a small, controlled fire might not come in handy. There are things I have been given or have collected that I would feel sad about discarding or disposing of, but is that just guilt or perhaps some puritanical sentiment to make do with and be grateful for what you have? It’s hard to shake a centuries long tradition of austerity cultivated like length of bone and speed in a thoroughbred. Given the choice, I think I’d have preferred to be taller.

I do wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to simply begin again. Just clean slate it, liquidate it all, sentiment be damned. What would that look like? Hmmm…

We emptied a shared storage unit today. Like the garage sale, it was uncomfortable. I’d hoped to have everything of my own removed prior to his visit to remove his things, but he’d decided that today was the day so today it was. Also, like the garage sale, he could not get away fast enough.

I do understand that because when I know he’s coming home, my anxiety level goes through the roof and as much as I want to see him, to find out what’s new in his world, to share with him my world, to soak in his sun, that’s as much as I want to run away to a place where I will never hear his name. Despite that anxiety and that impulse to run fast and far away, it still makes me incredibly sad that someone who was so much a part of my everyday will no longer be any part of any day. I lost my best friend, and the pain is acute.


I only fall in love with Leos. Have I mentioned that? It’s not on purpose, and I have dated men who are not Leos. The significant ones, though, they’re Leos. My first real boyfriend was a Leo. My child’s father is a Leo. The love of my life is a Leo. My best girlfriend is a Leo. My best guy friend is a Leo. And, of course, The Man is a Leo.

The first time The Man and I broke up, so many years ago, I met this man in line at a post office, who was also a Leo, and for some reason, we completely opened up to one another. It was a very long line.

He told me about his new marriage and the story of how he met and fell in love with his wife. I told him about my recent break up and how The Man had, at that time, told me that he couldn’t be a friend to me and that I thought this was just an excuse, that he just didn’t want to be hurtful, that he didn’t want to be honest about his real feelings.

This fellow Leo told me that it wasn’t an excuse. He told me that it was virtually impossible for The Man to be friends with me because he would always want more. That in his place, he would want more and that it was a good thing we would probably never see each other again (ack!). I’m not sure about The Man feeling that way, though. I think he can’t be a friend because he doesn’t want more. Perhaps those are one in the same?

That Leo I met in line at the post office told me that my situation would not get better and the best thing for me to do would be to walk away. The year was 2009. From the outside looking in, it would be easy to think, Wow, it’s not like this woman didn’t have fair warning. I mean, if strangers in line at the post office are telling her to cut loose almost 10 years ago

It’s never that simple, though. You can’t judge someone’s insides by their outsides. Like possessions, we accumulate armor and personas in part to attract others and in part to protect ourselves. We are none of us exactly as we seem. Anyway, I don’t really consider a 10-year relationship a failure. It’s simply a relationship that’s run its course.

In the end, I’m so glad I didn’t walk away. It may hurt now, but I would have always wondered, always been haunted by this one. He stole my heart. If I hadn’t seen it through, I would have gotten over it eventually – my default is happy – but I also would always have wondered if I had just held on a little longer whether or not it would have really been something.

I used to wonder just what it is that draws me to Leos, because I assure you it has never been on purpose. I seem to turn to them as a plant turns to the sun. The answer I’ve come up with is that I’m drawn to them because they are what I am not. They complete me. It seems, though, that they also have a tendency to break my heart. To be fair, it’s true that I’ve broken a Leo heart or two of my own. I think that if I take nothing else away from this relationship, perhaps it is that I need to find out how to be complete on my own, without a Leo and that, just maybe, one way or another, he was always meant to be the last.

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