She sits you down across from her at
the table and the look on her face scares you. Scares you and you're
not a man who gets scared easily. But the one thing you fear is
written plain across her. And you see her wrinkle her nose in the way
that tells you she's trying not to cry. Trying not to feel what she's
currently feeling. And that scares you. It's written there plain as
day though. And why wouldn't you know that? Haven't you spent the
last five years loving this woman? Learning to read her like a book.
Cause isn't that what love is? And the look she's giving you now
that's not what you want to see. That's a look you've seen before.
That's the look of her letting go. Your greatest fear. Her giving up
on you. The first tear rolls down her cheek. It's too late. She's
already made her decision. Many more tears will come. You know they
will. Again, you know this woman better than you know yourself. And
the way she's looking at you right now, that's not what you want.
That's never a look you wanted her to put on you. Maybe that's not
what it is though. Maybe there's something else. You can work through
anything she's about to tell you. Is that right though? Can you do
that? Are you willing to? Yes. Because you love this woman. And
that's what love is.
You reach across the table to take her
hands and she pulls them away from you. And that single act, that
single moment hurts more than anything she can tell you. Anything she
can do to you at that moment will not tell you any more or hurt you
anymore than what she's already told you by pulling away from you. No
longer does she accept your touch. No longer will she accept your
loving affection.
You ask yourself what it is you did
wrong. What is it you didn't do right? What more could you have acted
upon. What more did you need to learn or unlearn or needed to change?
What more could you have done for this woman to make her love
permanent? You run it through your head a million and a half times in
a matter of seconds. What did you do wrong? Maybe it wasn't you.
Maybe you did everything right. Maybe it's her. Maybe she just didn't
want to accept it from you. Maybe she was selfish. Maybe at the end
of the day it wasn't you but her. But you hate yourself for thinking
that because how could it be her? How could you blame her for any of
this? You love her. And blaming her for any of this seems to taint
that.
She'll never think of you again. And
you know that now in your heart. When she's cuddled with someone
new. She'll never remember the cold nights you did that with her
favorite movie. When her kids are having snowball fights she'll never
remember climbing the hill in the winter and you falling on your ass
getting her a walking stick and her thinking it was the most
hilarious thing in the world. When it's pouring down rain she'll
never remember how you laid your jacket down on the bench so her
pants wouldn't get wet. She'll never remember you going out late at
night to get her her favorite soup. Or the nights you rocked her to
sleep because of the pain in her stomach. Or learning to cut
pineapple for her. She'll never remember all of these things because
once you're unlaced from her life you'll no longer matter. Because as
much love as you gave her, it never filled her up. She never realized
how much you really did.
Didn't you try? Didn't you try
everything in your power to make sure she loved you? You were
devoted. Loving. Caring. You listened. In the end though what's it
matter? To what end did it solve anything? You wasted your time for 5
years you wasted your love with this person and all you manage to
learn was that it hurts. And that's something you can't stand
anymore. Is it? No. You are cracked. You are broken. And you had
thought she was the one to heal all that but just when you thought
that there was no longer damage she hits you. And hits you hard. The
pain breaks you for good now. And instead of crying you sit and stare
at her. She tells you it's not you. But you know. And you can't
react. You draw your hands in. You draw your heart in. You draw your
mind in. And you know that you'll never love again because what the
fuck is the point of love if it's never truly reciprocated? If it's
never really given back to you then why would you give it away? No
you'll keep it to yourself now. In your cracked box. The tears she
cries mean nothing. The house you lived in mean nothing. The pain you
felt now means nothing. And it won't ever again. Because these five
years had become nothing more than just an exercise on how cracked
you could become before you can't feel a thing.
There's something you remember down the
road. Sometime later. Something your mom would always say to you.
Something that plays through your head as you start your car. You
were going to be ok. Yes you're broken. Yes you're cracked. But the
cracks...
That's where the light gets in.
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