I do not recall the exact moment. But it happened just as swiftly as that first look across the silent raindrops on the glass pane and the kiss soon after, that melted away passers-by and cars alike. When longing stares turned into courteous glances and goodbye kisses crumbled into shallow hugs. When making love became hollow sex and the time after was spent at opposite ends of the bed, with mouths shut, muscles tensed and bodies turned away from each other. These were the moments when that nagging knotty feeling in the pit of my stomach churned about screaming something’s wrong- and I silenced it with a snarky ‘everything’s fine’ as I tried to fall asleep on a tear-stained pillow.
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Initially, I tried to convince myself that everything’s really fine, that I am just imagining stuff, that a certain degree of routine is bound to take over and that I am turning into the ‘desperate’ version of the girls I dislike. I began to hate myself for feeling that way and tried to seek refuge in girlfriends who gave me just the reassurance I needed to hear. On the way back, I replayed the conversation in my mind, deciding they were just being the lying, comforting schmucks I needed them to be and found comfort in sad playlists and self-doubt.
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That night, I decided to tell him how I felt- ask a few questions, and receive a few answers. Only I lay awake next to him, memorizing the sound of his heartbeats- listening to them like the ticking of a clock. Each heartbeat became a measure of time I was losing with him. I wanted to tell him how I was feeling but it had been so long since we stopped sharing ourselves that the words choked in my throat. I allowed them to ravage my emotions, devouring every inch of me inside until I could no longer bear the hurt and trembled to shake them away.
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As I fell asleep that night allowing darkness to fill the edges of my vision, I realized the flame of our romance was snuffed, the delicate tendrils of smoke spiraling up and disappearing into thin air. I believed myself fading, slowly but steadily in the same mess- but he lay there, asleep, unable to lift the fog and reach out to me. That was the first night when it hit me.
With every sunset that melted into darkness afterward, the realization hit harder. I knew I had to accept the change- as rage, resentment, anger, frustration and every palpable regret rocked my body with so much sadness that I held myself a little tighter, shrinking into a small mass at the edge of the bed, further away from him. Within those few inches, I put worlds between us- worlds of lost laughter, lost memories, lost LOVE. As I closed up, pressing against the paint of the wall, I built walls of my own. Brick by brick, every sigh, every tear, every regret, every fear, every unheard wish cemented the bricks together and raised the height of my fortress.
With each day that passed by, I knew he was going to break my heart. And I knew I was going to let him. But I was determined. If this was the beginning of the end, I wanted to see it through to the end, with him.
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So, I sat in bed crying for hours after he slammed the door. I cried myself to sleep when my sadness weighed me down while he drowned his’ in beer. I let go of the need for a welcome kiss and waited for him to look up from the screen when I came home from work, hoping he’d just acknowledge I was there, still there- choosing to stay. For him, with him.
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But he never looked. He never again wrapped his arms about me or laughed so hard at my joke that beer snots dropped down his nose. He never noticed additional efforts or asked about my day. Heck, he never even noticed the sobs I stifled or the pain in my eyes. Or maybe he did. But he never said anything. Maybe he was afraid that once he said something, it would become real. I wondered if it could be more real than it already was.
Because something within me knew that it was over. Even if none of us said it aloud.
Image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
Until one night when he did. In that moment, the walls about me came tumbling down and I knew better than to pick up the bricks of our memories and hurl them at him in a pathetic attempt to remind him of what used to be. I knew what once was would never again come to be- and I only put my hand on the rubble, wondering WHY.
Featured image source: Pixabay, under Creative Commons License
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