Wondering if you’re the same and who’s been with you/Is your heart still mine? I wanna cry sometimes/ I miss you

It’s been roughly two weeks since the breakup. The almighty, impending breakup, which felt like, for awhile, was bound to, doomed to happen.

Since then, I’ve thought of so many reasons for it NOT to happen. I wonder if this is what everyone thinks when they break up with someone.

I thought of our last day in South Padre on a band trip we went on two years ago. Everyone else was still asleep, and he was doing laundry because he was staying for another week with another band. It had been a really strange trip because there were feelings I felt that I couldn’t label yet. But it was our last morning together, and things were smoothed over between us: I remember sitting at the bar with him after our last performance the night before, and telling him that I loved him, but I didn’t think I ever would in that way. But I also knew that he deserved better than that girl he had hooked up with while we were there, which left a really awkward gap in our relationship. At least for a few days.

We were going to go out to breakfast, just the two of us, and he was doing laundry in the public hotel facility because he was staying for another week. We were walking back to our rooms from the laundry facility, when he stopped, turned to me, and said, “I know you said you aren’t drawn to me like that, but I’m still going to hope for it. Because I think you and I together would be beautiful.”

I stared back at him, and I knew he meant it. So I hugged him. It was the only fair thing I could do at the time.

About a year later, a few weeks after I changed my mind, and we had started dating, he was driving us back to his place while I had a splint on my broken arm, and we were approaching his apartment when he stopped whatever silly conversation we were having, and he said, “When I think about you and about us, I feel happiness and awe and surprise and love. You don’t judge me. And it’s amazing because it’s true: I let you go, and you came to me. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters, and it’s wonderful. You make me so happy, and I love you.”

That was the first time he’d said it like that. And I said it right back because I had absolutely no doubts about us. I was completely and wonderfully his, and he, mine.

I don’t think I’ll ever completely let go of these memories, that version of him that existed, pure and honest and true.

I am so grateful to have been loved like that, at least for awhile. I still saw glimpses of that person recently, before we cut off contact. That’s what made letting go so hard.

Truth is, I’ve needed out of this relationship for awhile. I’ve had so much anxiety since he started drinking again. And I’ve felt like I have’t fully been able to communicate with, or trust him, since he started drinking again. I cannot emphasize enough that it was the drinking that brought forward a lot of resentment and anger and fear.

I also can’t begin to explain how GOOD it was with him when we first started dating. That was the happiest I’d been in a long time, and possibly the happiest I’ve ever been in a relationship.

But, I also saw so much more resentment recently. There were things he resented about my past that I couldn’t change, and instead of talking to me about them, he would drink about them. He turned my world and my reality completely upside down. Or, alcohol did. And the fear and resentment would grow when he drank. I could not do a thing to change any of the events that unfolded. I simply could not move forward with who he was when he drank. There was no room for growth. He was not the same person. He became someone else when he drank, completely.

He is a wonderful person, and I miss him everyday. I will miss him everyday for a long time.  I still have so much love in my heart for who he was, who he is still capable of being. There is a space in my heart for who he will become, if he gets sober. He is always on my mind, in my heart, and in my memory. I’m so glad I got to be his while he was at his best.


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