For so long I thought it was all over. So often I thought this was where it ended. We shared so much; I shared so much; my past, my present, and my prospects of the future. My days and my nights. My money, my time, my friends... All were shared in the name of love. Never was there a doubt. Never were the feelings of uncertainty. The comfort was amazing: never dull; never so exciting one thought it would burn out. It was what it needed to be. Staying up all night talking or making love. It was a passion of the entire being.
Time flew by so subtly, you hardly noticed. Days to weeks, months to years. How can one summarize the years of so much? How can one explain why there is so little left? The love to animosity. Hopes to fears. Dreams to nightmares. Sweetheart to asshole. Perhaps it was merely inevitable. Perhaps there were the rumblings far below the surface, creating fissures and weakening the foundation. Perhaps it was never meant to be. But then why dangle the potential in front of you? Why give the glimmer of hope only to snatch it away just as my fist tried to close around it?
Maybe that was just it: Potential. Like a good recipe gone bad. Yeah, we had enough chicken and rosemary, but I guess it simmered too long, a slow simmer, like the rage building inside of me. Oh, there were plenty of fights, some quite vehement. Yet, aren't there always? There were plenty of times it could have ended, but if tuck tail and run every time you get anxious, how do you get anywhere? Maybe I should have listened to my gut, my mom, but there was always that fucking potential. That one thought, "If this happens, then we'll be fine." "This" never happened.
The years turned back into months, the weeks to days. I dreaded the phone calls, the problems, and the knowledge that if I wanted it done, I'd have to do it myself. Out poured the half-apologies. Not that they weren't sincere, just that there were irrelevant because next week, it'd happen again. Every word had a lining of shit. The lengthy silences were no longer in reverence of each other, but abhoration. There were times I just couldn't stand to be around her. I'd find myself wanting to work more (which says a lot since I worked 60 hour weeks). I'd find more excuses to not pick her up. I'd have more nights with the guys and insist she do the same. Our time together became a boring routine. The same time every few months would be the same fight. I would always be looking over my shoulder or just plain jittery because I just couldn't relax anymore. The work it took to keep it going was greater than the joy I got from our relationship, and the gap kept growing. How often do people pour themselves in, only for it to slowly drain out again? At what point does that hole fill in?
Then it came. That final straw, that final break. "This is it," I told myself. Only, it wasn't. Like everything else with her, it took work. More work that I wanted to put forth. The resistance was great. Sometimes, it seemed too great. Yet, I'd gone too far to back down. I had too much invested, and dammit, there's still that last lesson she had to learn. That lesson of pain and suffering that only comes with a broken heart. Lucky are those that don't need to learn that lesson, but only if paired with another as lucky as you will it work. I'm not lucky. Now I had to be the asshole to teach her that lesson. I guess she'll be better off now. Not because I'm the asshole, doomed to be said asshole, but because next time, she'll truly know, and it will be better. She'll take what she learned and move on. We all take what we learn and move on. I hate being an asshole. Even more, I have being forced to be an asshole. Stop forcing my hand in that direction.
There were so many things I could have said. So many times I could have responded to her malice with words of my own. Instead, I opted for the higher road. Frequently, I wish that, at least part of the time, I let fly one or two of my more hurtful words. Retorts that cut as deep as what she said to me, but I know how those words feel. I card too much to reply on that field. Instead, I backed down, took her words, let her vent without showing my pain. But I knew. I knew that lesson, and knew hers was coming.
I guess I always knew. I saw, in her, the possibility of our future. As time went by, more and more, I realized that it wasn't there. She wasn't there, at least, not where she had to be. By the time she saw that, it was too late. Whatever we could have had was gone. All that was left was us. She and I. Not apart, but far from together. The actual conclusion of our relationship was a mere formality; she just didn't realize that yet. I'd like to think she realizes it now, but it's to say. I think she does.
So here I sit, looking back on it all. So many memories. Most good, many not. A chunk of both of our lives gone. Now we scramble to not make that time a waste but taking what we learned and throw it out the window. The only validation we have for the last four years is to learn. Learn from our own mistakes. Learn from each others. Good luck to both of us. |
