This week would have been our one year anniversary. One year through our second chance together. Instead, I am spending it, and indeed, the last six months alone. I am writing this letter because it feels as if that chapter is not only over, but that the entire volume of the book is. I have to close it and pick up a new volume, instead of staring at the last few blank pages wishing you would appear in them.
It saddens me greatly because we seemed to fit so well. Similar interests, playful senses of humor, you could keep up with random text message topics and tangents for hours. We were always drawn to one another and comfortable near each other. You understood me and didn’t judge me for my naivety in certain areas. You challenged me to try more things and to better myself, because I wanted to be better for you and to try the things you enjoyed – but also because I knew they would be better for me too. I needed to grow and try things, and you were perfectly okay with baby steps and letting things go if they didn’t work out.
But I think I invested too much, too fast. The vibe and the beautiful words you spoke allowed me to leap too far and maybe put unreal destinations on the relationship. I’d hoped we’d get somewhere, and it was probably ridiculous to think such a young relationship could do that. A second chance at success, a fairy tale ending – it felt right within my grasp.
Then the silence came. Days of it at first and then weeks, and all along I was defending your silence to my concerned friends. Defending you, and silently agonizing over the cut-off and struggling to think of good reasons why you would do that. With so many methods of communication available, why would you disappear so thoroughly? Calls went to voicemail, texts went unanswered, Skype messages received no reply, nor did emails. I didn’t want to pester you, but I needed to know you were okay. And all the while I waited, defended you and just knew you would have a totally justifiable reason. I didn’t get mad, or call it off because I thought something really major must be happening that threw you for a loop – like maybe a sudden, bad illness in the family, or something awful with your adopted daughter. I knew that sometimes you turtled in on yourself when bad things happened, and that I needed to be there for you and reach out to try and help. That’s what you do in relationships, right? Support the other person when they are struggling, watch their back. Share the good times together, but also endure the bad.
The reason was less than inspiring. You said you had dropped your phone and completely destroyed it, then had a whole bunch of trouble getting it set back up again, and that the voicemail hadn’t even been done properly. It tasted like a half truth, but I let it go because it was so nice to have you back and saying you were still committed to the relationship and sorry. We talked about seeing each other in person again and plans for the summer when we both were meant to be volunteers and work together. Hope was renewed, but sadly, it wouldn’t last.
You grew distant again. Slow to respond, fewer words, and then more silence. I gave you space to work through whatever it was, again, foolishly hoping you’d let me in to help you or tell me what was happening. I went through countless scenarios in my head as to what could be so horribly wrong that you would disappear that way – disappear but not just break up with me and move on. I’d gone down so many horrible mental paths for reasoning that when you finally did respond it seemed like less of a horrible thing.
It certainly was miles away from ideal, but I still wanted to be there to support you, and, at the time, you claimed you still wanted to be together and just weren’t sure this new thing would allow it.
I was willing to do the work, whatever it took. Always be the one to visit you, share time with you with other people, and even adjust the foundation of my life goals to accommodate this change. I even thought it might work out nicely, since it would give you something you had once said you wanted in life, but that I personally didn’t think I could handle full time.
I would have stuck by you through anything, fought any battle, but for the second time in my life, you would turtle on me – not tell me about your problems or how you were thinking of dealing with them. You said the last time it was an effort to spare me drama and pain, but I felt then and now that it is really more about the solution that is most immediately simplifying for you. You cut out the thing that is easiest to control and not in your immediate area (me) and slam a solution in place that salves a painful situation in your immediate life, but sets you up for a potentially rocky future.
Losing you was and is very painful, but as I see more and more of my friends get into long term relationships lately, and see how they interact and treat one another – I realize that I was not being treated the right way for a long time. Maybe I will never be. It is not everyone’s destiny to be with that perfect other person, I had hoped it would be mine, but life is telling me otherwise.
I am sure you are doing well. You are smart, have an excellent job and are good looking. All of this will somehow turn out to be your fairy tale life with the picket fence and the 2.5 children. I do wish you the best, but I had to write all of this down in order to release the sadness, anger and disappointment. In order to move on, I had to unshackle myself from the memory and hopes for you.
I’m ending this now with a song you found and said that it reminded you of the time after we broke up the first time and you thought I’d moved on, but I’ve always thought it resonated more with my end of the relationships with you – always trying to reach out when you had gone silent and just wanting you to say something before it was too late..