The tears and the smears on my glasses which I look through to type this are telling me I’m still not over her. Or perhaps, the idea of her, because she had always held back a part of herself from being mine completely.
This is what happens when a true friend stabs you in the front. I guess I’ve been avoiding these thoughts for a while now, and confronted with them in conversation, the reality has never been more clear.
I’m still a broken man.
Even with the mixed signals, the inconsistency, and the pain, it was still the most significant relationship I’ve ever had, and that’s what makes it so hard to let go. My other relationships may have been free of all the drama, but they also lacked the depth, intensity, and intimacy.
There’s nothing I would have changed but the end, which dragged on for a year, one suture ripped out after another. It was far from a clean break, and anything but resolution.
I know I wasn’t the only person to go through the pain of separation, but the break wasn’t supposed to last forever. I was willing to step away so I could heal and be strong enough to be friends in time, to be there for her, to be ready to accept the next guy. And most importantly, I was willing to come back.
She was supposed to be strong enough to let me go until I was ready.
Why couldn’t it have ended that night, instead of the mindfuck that continued for months after? Why couldn’t the last thing for her to leave me be the letter she wrote on the stationary I gave her? Why couldn’t she have kept the promise she made to do whatever it took to keep me in her life, and stayed away?
We haven’t seen each other in over half a year. It’s been even longer since we had an actual conversation. It’s time for me to wake the fuck up. It’s time for me to deal with my emotions and the reality of the situation. It’s time for me to move on instead of holding on. It’s time for me to understand that I’ll never be what she needs, and she’ll never accept me as I am.
It’s time for me to realize that it’s over.