Free The Shards of Serenity by Yusuf Blanton Page A

she found my grandiose gestures to be ‘too much’, my laid-back efforts to be ‘too casual’, or my sexual drive to be ‘too calculated.’ In her moments of clarity, she’d admit that most of her gripes ranged between self-created and generally associated with her post-trauma; but other times she would point fingers and blame until argumentation began to ruin our experience.
    It all truly came to an end one Friday evening when I was lacing up my shoes for a beautiful night out. I’d reserved two tickets to the concert hall we’d gone out to for our first date, and her group home had extended her curfew to facilitate her attendance. Before I could get to my right shoe, however, I felt my cell phone vibrate vigorously, signifying a long stream of text messages. What I read, I still have saved to his day, as a record of closure to my ever-opening mind:
     
    “Markus,
     
    I know ever since we got back together, my mental condition has been wavering, and you’ve requested stability in our relationship. You have every right to ask for that, and every right to receive that. It is, however, something I can’t give.
    My heart was ripped out at twenty years old; when my parents sold me off to my ex-husband for a $10,000 bridal gift, and a promise to pay for my tuition costs. He’s dead now and has been for seven months, but I still can’t get find enough soap on the planet to wash those memories away.
    In the time I’ve known you, Markus Glenn, you’ve been perfect. In the cliché words of Hollywood movies, “it’s not you, it’s me.” Only in this case, I mean that literally. I am not capable of loving. I am not capable of trusting. You try to reel me in, Markus, and I feel overwhelmed. You try to let me breathe, and I feel neglected.
    My parents named me Serenity, and that’s ironic, because the closest I’ve ever gotten to deserving that name was when I had you. But, I can’t hold you down another day, Markus. You always want to know where this going, and in my heart I know the answer is ’nowhere.’ We can make plans, but my fears will knock them down. You can impregnate me, but I am horrified of having a child. I am not ready for love. I can give it, but only when it doesn‘t intersect with my trauma. I can receive it, but I cannot sustain it. You deserve better than that, Markus.
    To make this transition easier for the both of us; I’ve blocked your number, taken you off my visitation list, and removed you from my social media. We cannot force something that will never work. But, thank you, Markus. Thank you for showing me what it is to be loved. I will always love you.
     
    Sincerely,
     
    Serenity”
     
    After reading her words for the umpteenth time; I tried to text her back, but my message was returned. I tried to call her, but it looped straight to voicemail. I tried to message her online, but I couldn’t find her profiles. I tried to call her halfway house, but they said that I was off her contact lists altogether.
    I suppose if there’s one thing to learn from my experience with Serenity, it’s that love is truly unpredictable. While Christians take their definition of the word from idealistic Biblicisms, and coffee shop intellectuals borrow theirs from the tortured words of suicidal philosophers; the reality is that none of us know the depth of what we’re talking about until we experience love first hand. It can be slippery, it can be constant, it can be temporary, and it can be permanent. At its core, however, it is perfection. A moment in time where time itself freezes, the breeze stops blowing, the sun stops shining too abrasively, the moon stops glowing so haphazardly, our desires shrink to nil proportions; and our compassion and devotion toward another person override the traits of the universe that we’ve served our entire lives.
    At times when the World gets to be too much, and the problems seem to override the solutions in only ways that life coaches and glorified maniacs could