Falling out of love is hard business. Especially when you're - you know - the hard battle girl. Yeah. It's not something that's easy to talk about, but I think I need to. Even if I'm the one that did the breaking it off bit. There's still all those little bits of feeling that can't be left to linger.
You have to deal with them one at a time, slowly. Pay them all the same amount of attention - they deserve that much at least. They all have the same heavy weight of meaning. The candle you burned on your anniversary, the silver spoon you passed back and forth when you ate ice cream from that ornate glass bowl his mother gave you, the songs you used to sing together on long drives, the favorite movie quotes you used to pass back and forth at the drop of a hat - just because you could. You have to accept that these things still exist - but they don't mean what they did before. You have to put the spoon aside and give the songs new meaning and maybe throw the candle away.
There's more than just those physical things though. There's still those little things that confused strangers most, the not so obvious things. Like the way you would dance with him on the subways to no music but the music in your head. And that was good enough at the time. Or there's that little subtle glance that tells him he needs to kiss you right then, or the poke at his side that's a reminder for him to sit up straight. And that was good enough at the time. The way you knew what the other would get at a restaurant before they even verbalized it, and that was more than good enough.
After you've been with someone for so long... you start to build your life around them. You know them better than you know yourself - so it would seem sometimes. You feel the way they feel and know instantly when something's off and you start to have a rhythm. Normal sex on Mondays and Fridays, Wednesdays are kinky experiment night. Saturdays and Sundays you visit friends and family, and Tuesdays and Thursdays are your maybe if you're not too tired tonight nights. Of course, the pattern extends beyond bedroom schedule, it goes so far as Tuesdays you wake up early to make breakfast special, on Fridays you go out with him someplace you've never been before - maybe it's a museum or maybe it's just a different part of town or maybe it's just a tree you've never paid attention to in the park you frequent.
It's all... built for you. You don't actively realize when you do it. But it's you make this life for you and he and you both fall into it so comfortably that nothing could possibly be bad with it. You get comfortable. I got comfortable. Comfortable is a scary place to be - don't let happy people and romantic comedies fool you. Comfortable is the worst place you can be in a relationship sometimes.
It was good for us - the unexpected move. It took us out of pattern and comfort. Don't let Lissie tell you otherwise. Don't let Blake fool you with his bitterness. It was something that changed our habits just enough to keep us from being that perfect couple. No one wants to be that perfect couple, no matter how idealized it is. It gave me hope.
...having it end was something I would not have seen coming. No matter how prepared I claimed to be.
Was I prepared? Not at all. It's too late for that now. Now it's over. Now I'm at the point where I have to stop rambling and accept that not all is well and as it was. I have to accept that Wednesday will no longer involve discovering something new about leather and skin, Saturday is no longer about having lunch with his mom or mine, and dances on the subway will never happen with him again.
Falling out of love isn't all about ending it with him. It's about... it's about discovering yourself without him again. It's answering the question "what are you unattached?" It's knowing you'll survive.
You have to deal with them one at a time, slowly. Pay them all the same amount of attention - they deserve that much at least. They all have the same heavy weight of meaning. The candle you burned on your anniversary, the silver spoon you passed back and forth when you ate ice cream from that ornate glass bowl his mother gave you, the songs you used to sing together on long drives, the favorite movie quotes you used to pass back and forth at the drop of a hat - just because you could. You have to accept that these things still exist - but they don't mean what they did before. You have to put the spoon aside and give the songs new meaning and maybe throw the candle away.
There's more than just those physical things though. There's still those little things that confused strangers most, the not so obvious things. Like the way you would dance with him on the subways to no music but the music in your head. And that was good enough at the time. Or there's that little subtle glance that tells him he needs to kiss you right then, or the poke at his side that's a reminder for him to sit up straight. And that was good enough at the time. The way you knew what the other would get at a restaurant before they even verbalized it, and that was more than good enough.
After you've been with someone for so long... you start to build your life around them. You know them better than you know yourself - so it would seem sometimes. You feel the way they feel and know instantly when something's off and you start to have a rhythm. Normal sex on Mondays and Fridays, Wednesdays are kinky experiment night. Saturdays and Sundays you visit friends and family, and Tuesdays and Thursdays are your maybe if you're not too tired tonight nights. Of course, the pattern extends beyond bedroom schedule, it goes so far as Tuesdays you wake up early to make breakfast special, on Fridays you go out with him someplace you've never been before - maybe it's a museum or maybe it's just a different part of town or maybe it's just a tree you've never paid attention to in the park you frequent.
It's all... built for you. You don't actively realize when you do it. But it's you make this life for you and he and you both fall into it so comfortably that nothing could possibly be bad with it. You get comfortable. I got comfortable. Comfortable is a scary place to be - don't let happy people and romantic comedies fool you. Comfortable is the worst place you can be in a relationship sometimes.
It was good for us - the unexpected move. It took us out of pattern and comfort. Don't let Lissie tell you otherwise. Don't let Blake fool you with his bitterness. It was something that changed our habits just enough to keep us from being that perfect couple. No one wants to be that perfect couple, no matter how idealized it is. It gave me hope.
...having it end was something I would not have seen coming. No matter how prepared I claimed to be.
Was I prepared? Not at all. It's too late for that now. Now it's over. Now I'm at the point where I have to stop rambling and accept that not all is well and as it was. I have to accept that Wednesday will no longer involve discovering something new about leather and skin, Saturday is no longer about having lunch with his mom or mine, and dances on the subway will never happen with him again.
Falling out of love isn't all about ending it with him. It's about... it's about discovering yourself without him again. It's answering the question "what are you unattached?" It's knowing you'll survive.
Thank you. I needed to hear this too.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad I could put it up for you too Elaine. Not just for me. For anyone who needs to hear it. I know it's not just us.
ReplyDeleteIt's nice to see you're expanding your identity with this. After all my own problems, I know there's nothing more worrying than having to face yourself. and Thank you, there's definitely people I've known that could do with this advice.
ReplyDeleteIt's not the easiest of things, facing yourself, but then again, what is in this terrible situation we're all in? Again, I'm happy to have put it up here. And that it could be read and understood by more than just me.
ReplyDeleteFalling out of love is knowing the pain of waking up alone, and choosing to be that way. Falling out of love is realizing that you are slowly, completely becoming your own self again instead of one half of a duo. It's.. so fucking hard. Waking up crying, knowing you've no comfort, no warmth besides yours and the fire.
ReplyDeleteThe artwork they gave you, the songs they'd sing you, the beautiful way their eyes would glint when they were up to something. It's so damn sad when those things become tainted. When they don't mean the same things they once did. This post.. I'm sorry. I know what this means, and I empathize, almost a month later. Thank you for this.
It's okay... It's okay to feel pain. And almost a month after you drop this comment, I drop a response.
DeleteYou're welcome.