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v u l v a l i c i o u s On the 2 year Anniversary of Our Breakup Announcement Hello. It wasn't two years ago today that we sat down and had that conversation. The one we'd had before, but with the different twist at the end. The one about how you wanted children, how you wanted to stay. How I didn't. How I wasn't good at telling you what I did want, really. But it was two years ago today that I told you I needed to share it publicly. You agreed. We were still living together at the time. Still sleeping in the same bed. I was packing your lunches up at night. Making dinner. The usual. Two years ago, approximately, I couldn't stop feeling the cracks in my surface. I found out the reason that people talk about crying on the kitchen floor: it turns out there is no better place to cry, except maybe the shower. Almost 2 years ago, you said we could try again. I was late for our date and you got mad that I talked about work. It wasn't on purpose, but I probably didn't want that date, really. I loved you so much, but I couldn't stay with you. Everything felt like let me go let me go letmego. Not quite 2 years ago, I drove away in the car you'd bought to move to Texas, singing liberation songs and not crying as much as I expected to. But I called you that night from El Paso anyway, or I wanted to when I saw all those lights sparkling. You thought it was so beautiful, but it just made my heart ache like fire. More than a year ago, you wanted to try again. Sent me letters, texts. "I want to take you on date," you said. "And maybe other things." I missed you so much. I said yes. It's probably ok that I said yes. Sometimes the cracks aren't enough. Sometimes learning to be careful means letting yourself drop, break, hurt. A year ago yesterday, you wrote me to say you'd fallen in love with someone new. I haven't entirely forgiven you yet, even though I'd like to say I have. You did the best you could. It must feel different for you. I don't understand. A year ago, I cried driving over the bridge. I tried to understand why it made me so sad. I didn't want to be broken. Cracks were familiar, but this hurt wasn't. It threw me down. I have been slow to get back up. I'm still not sure if I'm open, if I'm better. Sometimes I cry at love songs, and sometimes I think of texting you but know I can't. I'm not better. But I'm ok. I love myself most of the time. It turns out I am good at taking care of myself when I'm not trying to take care of you. So that's nice. And my life is so beautiful, sometimes. When I hold the dog. When I drive myself to work and the city is wrapped up in lacy shawl of fog, my mysterious little island. When I sit up late, late, and don't have anyone to answer to about it. I miss you, but I don't miss us. And in losing us, I got myself. That's the best I could ask for. Love in broken pieces, |