Surveying the apartment, I can see that we were lucky, once. We had our love, once.
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Surveying the apartment, with only half of “ours” remaining, I could see there was nothing left. The TV we bought together was left and the couch I fell asleep on while waiting for him to come home was left and the bed he had bought us for Valentine’s Day was left, but nothing was left.
Where did it all go?
Where’d the passion go? Upon meeting him, I was instantly hooked, addicted to the way he tasted and touched and cuddled and fucked. Sleepovers became a regular occurrence sooner than most would advise, yet sleeping apart seemed like the most absurd decision imaginable. I’d drown in his glistening flesh as he kissed my shoulder blades, both highlighted by the summer sun. Now my skin looks weary and my shoulders look defeated and the bed resembles a Tim Burton nightmare.
Where’d the trust go? In our home, I felt safe and loved and secure. Nothing could touch me within the four walls of our adoration, palpable and always on guard. I’d escape the inevitable pain of the outside world with every turn of the doorknob and lock of the door. Then the walls started to appear smaller and the door seemed like a gate and the guards seemed suffocating. Now I hear the accusations and anger and pain and hate still bouncing from screaming wall to screaming wall.
Where’d the support go? He was quick to hold up my goals so they seemed easier to reach and I was more than happy to facilitate his grandiose ideas of both a higher education and a fruitful career. He was understanding when the hand of my past would reach out and slap me, quick to remind me that I was worthless and broken. He was kind and caring when sadness seemed like the only legitimate response to distant and destructive memories. Now it’s my fault that I was hurt and it’s my fault that I was scared and it’s my fault that I’m selfish and want more.
Where’d the honesty go? Words would swing from my teeth and tumble out of my mouth with the ease of a seasoned olympian. “Secret” was erased from my vocabulary and every dark and sinister demon hiding behind my rib cage was exposed. The understanding that painted his eyes grey and the forgiveness that made his arms strong allowed me to rest my head on the truth. Now lies are leaking from my phone and spilling from my computer and tainting a heart that was once his. Now I can’t keep up with the places I’m claiming I am and the people I’m promising I’m seeing, falling behind lie after lie after lie.
Where’d the strength go? Together we were a force, capable of battling any debilitating blow life deemed necessary to throw our way. I leaned on him as he leaned on me and a triangle fortress of impenetrable support was created. Then bricks began to fall and beams began to shake and our foundation of selflessness crumbled. Now I see pieces of it all, spread out on the floor like used up band-aids.
Where did we go? We used to be the couple everyone held up as the epitome of strength and love and hope. People saw our smiles and the subtle way he’d lay his hand on the small of my back, consistently reminding us both how lucky we were to find one another. We didn’t have all the answers and we hardly made any plans, but we had one another and, for at least a while, that seemed like enough. I thought we were enough.
Perhaps our love was like the meals he’d thoughtfully devour when we first met. At every date, he’d be the first to clean his plate and he’d urge me to do the same. He would remind me of his humble beginnings, and the importance of finishing every single, solitary bite. You don’t know how lucky you are, he’d remind me.
Surveying the apartment, I can see that we were lucky, once. We had our love, once.
And because of that, there are no leftovers.
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Photo: Getty Images
That conveyed so well the feeling of bewilderment and loss that can follow the end of what seemed like a ‘perfect’ relationship. And…I have to disagree that there are ‘no leftovers’. To continue with the metaphor of a meal, the main dish may be finished but desert is yet to come! And what is that sweet finish? – the long process of accepting that the relationship was not all we thought it was, that because of the inevitable distortions of hope and wishful thinking we probably idealised the other person to be who we wished them to be rather than… Read more »
Dear Danielle, that was really good. I felt it…deep down in my heart where the truth always thrives.