I thought I was ready to lose you.
Sometimes I even longed for it, late at night when the anxiety and uncertainty took hold. These first years of adulthood, excelling in the career I always dreamed of, weren’t what I expected them to be. I was despondent, depressed. Life left me irritable, and spurred by the misconception that our love was unconditional, I took you for granted. You weren’t my first priority, even though I always seemed to be yours.
And then we ended it.
I’m overwhelmed by confusion. Do I simply need to ride out the initial stages of grief, breathe in and out, in and out, until it eventually becomes clear this was the right decision? Or is this pain — these gut-wrenching, nauseating waves of pain — an indication that severing our five-year-long love a mistake?
I don’t understand how to be without you. It doesn’t seem real, and I can’t grasp the idea that we won’t be together again.
We grew up together. We suffered through pain together. We figured out life together, shared our families with one another, made a home together. And that’s the thing — over the years, you’ve become my home.
But that soul-lifting, tingly giddiness that comes with new love faded. Though our connection grew deeper, it faded into something more mellow. Something comfortable, safe. It wasn’t exciting anymore.
I wanted it to end. You wanted it to end. But now that it’s over, now that the loss is real, I’m not so sure it’s what I wanted after all.
I think back to those nights you were asleep beside me, in such easy reach. I wish I could go back in time, reach over and fix us instead of just falling asleep.