Sarah
July 20, 2008 / 9:50 p.m.
I'm so emotionally exhausted tonight. I'm not even that sad with your words of confirmation. Maybe if all these things hadn't transpired in such quick order since Tuesday night... I'd be more affected. I absolutely knew when you picked me up-- the instant I got in-- that you were going to say that it was over for good this time. That there would be no other chance, no other night in your bed... no girlfriend to be with and have over to my new home next month... only myself, lonely in a little house off SE Powell.
We drove to Laurelhurst and my heart was falling into my stomach.
I can read your body so well... your walk... the way your eyes go from side to side when you're happy... and conversely, when you are waiting for the right time to break a relationship off, and the right words, the right moment in the air that's going through the park. It's just so different... You're face has no glow... Rigid like a sea with no disturbance to its surface.
It's over, it's over, it's over... I could feel the corners of your body directing it.
When I first met you outside Dots-- after getting off work at that Mexican place I never ended up getting a singular paycheck that didn't bounce from--- two and a half years ago... I saw you and you were so fucking pretty...
From that, to the trips to the beach, to me moving in, to the lump we found on your collarbone and the six months in a boring chemotherapy haze, to the suspicions and yelling and hate and mistrust, to the long stream of short-term roommates who we didn't like, to the money issues and the working together in mutual agony, and to you sleeping at P's house and dumping me the next day...
To today.
I still love you.
I thought I was going to spend the night with you... or at least wanted there to be a chance...
Instead, I told myself if this was your decision, I was going to have to go back on the anti-depressants...
It's over, though. Watching my phone in the middle of the night on the chance it will light up, imagining where you were and what you were doing, imagining what your love was doing.
God, how horrid. Another chance at being with the person I really want to be with for the rest of my life... or coming home, stricken, lonely, and reaching for the bottle of SSRI's.
And there's no way around it... I've been a horrible, insensitive, arrogant boyfriend... a liar... cheating you out of what you needed, selfishness strung along by a mutal need for intimacy.
God, if I could spend the next five years taking back three-percent of the shit I exposed you to, I'd do it.