I'm doing some supervisions here this week, and one of my students is a boy. He's possibly a slacker, maybe a troubled soul, and certainly in deep trouble with his studying. He's also got a certain kind of nascent twinkly charm. And a big nose. I have always been a sucker for a charming slacker, and when charming slackerdom comes combined with a big nose I find a lot to like. Not that I'm planning to engage in any way with this post-adolescent student, but the combination of attributes gives an added enjoyment to our supervisions.
Then today, as we faced each other during the supervision and he turned his face in a certain way, I realised that he doesn't just remind me of legions of charming slackers past: he reminds me of Mr. Fallen. And I had to turn my mental face away. Indeed, several times he reminded me of Mr. Fallen, and each time I had to take care to turn my mind's eyes away from that, to avoid anything more than the beginning twinge of pain.
When does that run out, I wonder? I know I don't want to be with Mr. Fallen anymore, and I know it wouldn't have worked out, and most importantly of all I know that I would have missed out on large happy portions of my last year if we had continued on, but that doesn't change the fact that I still wish for him, and I'm still pained by the loss of him.
Of course, I suppose I don't miss him. He was just the last person I was involved with, the last person I loved, the last person with whom I had a tender relationship, and what I really miss is the relationship, and the loving. But I know that even now if I saw him my heart would flip over, and I would incline toward him, and then I would be sad not to have him - even though the wise part of me doesn't want him.
When does that go, I wonder?
I was going to reproduce Keats's "When I Have Fears" here, but then I realised that I don't have fears that I may cease to be. All my fears are fears that I will continue to be.
Ah, well, it's that time of year...