Our paths once crossed. They ran parallel, crisscrossing and intertwining, even merging together like when a wave joins the ocean again. But somewhere along the roaring wave, it broke; it fell apart, and we grew apart.
It really is that simple.
Our paths diverged, and while the time together was the ride of a lifetime, I’m sorry to say, and reluctant to admit, that our paths no longer run in parallel.
You were once the love of my life, a love so full and worthy that I committed my life to you. In happiness & sadness, in health and sickness. I abided by that the best I could. In my pure white dress, I testified in front of everyone, confessing my love for you. As I looked deep into your eyes, into your soul, I truly believed that we were eternal, that we were infinite. So I promised, “I do.”
Yet here we are, a year later, two broken hearts in innumerable broken pieces, each shard of glass sharp and precise enough to make its fatal damage.
I loved us.
We worked together, we were a good team. The parts you lacked I had, the parts where I fell short on, you made up for. But deep down, there was always a nagging feeling. Something off. My intuition never shut up, and there was always an uncomfortable knot in my stomach that I chose to ignore. There were all the reasons in the world to ignore that little voice. We lived gregariously, me waking up to make breakfast whilst you made the bed. Falling into the rhythm of Friday night dates and Sunday morning brunches. We had a comfortable life; we were happy. I chose to believe that this would be my world; that our world was infinite.
We were two puzzle pieces from the same puzzle set, yet what we failed to acknowledge was that we were not two adjoining pieces.
But cracks started to form, little fissures running deep, uprooting everything from the roots to the surface, tearing everything apart along the way. The resentment and unhappiness stored within was unearthed all at once; the pain that was ignored resurfaced as a fresh new wound, fresh and raw, throbbing as if an artery was cut.
Before long, I realized I could not take it anymore. I choose to admit that you are no longer “the love of my life.”
You are definitely, and always will be, “a love of my life.” But I have grown now, and I now realize that there is no “one” love of my life – for everything changes. People change, situations change, feelings change. Who is to say that what we once had was not great? No-one. Who is to judge that it was the best thing that ever happened? No-one. We all blunder through life without knowing what is around the corner, what is coming up – that’s where the fun of life is, right? All we can do is know what is working for us now, and what isn’t.
So I choose the hard way out. Hell, it would be so much easier to choose the easy way out. To pretend nothing is wrong whilst I know you go behind my back and fuck some other girl. A fuck to satisfy your carnal instincts, because we both know that there’s a rupture in our relationship, and that it no longer feels right. The easy way out? I would go to family dinners with a big smile on my face, with layers of makeup on my cheeks so that I am radiantly “glowing with happiness,” as they say. Maybe we would even have children. Not a child made from love, but a child made to satisfy society, a child that we would both love independently, but not a child who is Our love. We’re both grown up, we’re both logical and we’re both smart. We could manage a life like that. Easy.
But no, I still want to live life. I want to feel alive; to feel passion coursing through my veins, as if all the cells in my body was set on fire. I want to feel excited to live life, I want to fall in love with life, I want to be radiant with happiness. But I need to love Myself first, for if I can’t even learn to love myself, how can I possibly keep giving? How can I let you drain me, with all the arguments, all the tension, all the little irritable things that wouldn’t really be irritable if I still loved you?
It pains me to see you. It pains me to tell you that I no longer love you in that way. I look at the broken pieces on the floor and I cannot bring myself to pick them up. I feel paralyzed between the choices – I don’t want to glue the pieces back together, yet my heart falls to the pit of my stomach when I think the other option is to throw out the pieces.
So I stare. And I watch, as my inaction becomes my action. I watch as you try to piece together the broken shards, as your hands bleed and your tears fall at your own futile attempts. It takes two to mend this broken glass, and you know it. It tears my heart apart to watch you, as if my heart is crying for you. Yet there is a part of me that cannot kneel beside you and rebuild what we had. For what we had was great, but we move on. And somewhere along the way I have moved on. I don’t know when or where or why – perhaps I will have an epiphany sometime later in my life when all these emotions somewhat feels foreign to me. But right now, it doesn’t matter – all that matters is that I know this is not right. That I cannot pick up the pieces next to you. I cannot mend the pieces with you. So I am admitting to you, that this is not working.
A part of me sinks, thinking how this is ending; how the future remains bleak and dark.
Yet somehow, I would rather walk this tunnel blindly, than to continue a life of lies. I choose to build a world that I love, instead of letting my world fall into the gravitational pull of your Universe.
I refuse to be a planet that only revolves around you. So I choose the hard way. I choose to face my fears, I choose to burn the bridge while I find another route across.
We will forever be “a love” in each other’s life, no doubt, but this love is no longer a love like a comfortable blanket that I snuggle under when it’s dark and stormy outside; instead it is an old stitched patchwork quilt that itches and scratches me however I try to settle down. The essence of our love has changed – or perhaps it always was a love like this, just that I am brave enough to admit it now.