I ran 4.8 miles yesterday, the longest I’ve run since my hip injury last year. I wanted to send him a text and tell him; I knew he would be proud of me. But I couldn’t. Because he asked me not to.
I pulled gum out of my purse and it reminded me of how he doesn’t like it when his gum reaches less than ½ pack full. I was at a bar the other night next to a pool table; it reminded me of how good he is at billiards, how he was patiently giving me pointers last weekend.
I want to take my earring out because he held my hand when I got it pierced. My tattoos are permanent so I can’t remove them to get his memory away from me. And they remind me of him looking in my eyes and telling me it was going to be OK when I told him it hurt too badly. I look at the turtle on my tattoo and I’m reminded of the bookmark his mom sent him that looks like the same turtle. He was with me when I got my haircut, and he likes the old style better – but that’s just ’cause he doesn’t like change. He would’ve come around to this new look.
This is the sort of breakup I never thought I’d have to encounter. This breakup is not my husband, not a boyfriend. This is my friend. One of my closest friends in the world. Someone who I thought would be by my side forever and ever.
This isn’t one of those “you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone” things. We knew from the beginning our friendship was important.
We haven’t been friends for very long, only since April, but our connection was instant and deep. It wasn’t long before I felt like we knew each other better than anyone else knew us. We clicked on all the right things: exercising, eating, design, shopping, poetry and style. We clicked in the way we talk to each other, in the way we could sense when something was wrong with the other or when things were off. We disagreed on some things, such as finances and religion. But we communicated well with each other on these things; I understand his point of view and he understands mine, and it sparked positive discussion that we would actually look forward to having, discussion we knew would do nothing but enhance our views and our opinions and our lives. And on the finances part, we were meeting in the middle more and more each day. It’s how we were able to furnish his apartment with virtually no arguments whatsoever.
I understand things about him no one else understands, what makes him tick, why he thinks the way he thinks. He often claims I know him better than he even knows himself, and I fully believe that to be true. He knows me so well, too. He knows my temper and my sensitivity and mannerisms and when I need a cup of coffee or a hug. He gives the best foot rubs of anyone I’ve ever met.
I fully believe we have made each others’ lives better. I feel with all my heart that without this man in my life, I would not be writing poetry again, I would not have written my novel, I would not have the expansive music tastes I now have or the happiness I have felt. That’s what it boils down to: Having him in my life has made me happy.
He does not see this, because he does not see his self-worth. He doesn’t understand how great of a person he is, and what a great force in my life he has been.
He called me two days ago and told me we could no longer be friends. This has broken my heart in a way that my heart has never been broken before.
I wish he’d had the decency to tell me to my face. I wish he would give me a say in this – it’s my life too, after all.
I’m torn between wanting to tell him never to contact me again and wanting to drive to his house and shake him by the shoulders and tell him he doesn’t get to treat me like this. That I deserve better than this. That he deserves better than this! I know his heart is broken, too.
I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I felt faint just walking down the street yesterday morning: I had these visions of fainting, falling and hitting my head on a parking meter, and having to tell everyone I fainted for no reason. But it wouldn’t have been for no reason: It would have been for a horrible reason. It would have been for this empty spot in my heart.
I accidentally emailed him a photo I meant to send to myself (of my feet, for the blog I wrote the other day.) I have picked up the phone to call him and put it down about 10 times. What is there to say that hasn’t been said? I tried my hardest to salvage things, but it was to no avail. His mind is made up and he wants me out of his life. I don’t know if he’s even reading this; part of me really hopes he is, the rest of me knows the reason he unfriended me on Facebook is because he can’t bear to look at my pictures, look at my wall, see my life go on without him.
I feel as if someone has died. I feel as if a part of me has died. And in a way, it has. An era has died. Things will never be the same for me, for him, for him and me. We may never see each other again. But I will always have a place for him in my heart. I hope he comes around, I hope he changes his mind, I hope it’s not too late for me to let him back in at some capacity.
But I have to try to move on right now. I am angry with him, and hurt and sad and confused and lost. But ultimately, I cherish him – in the way one cherishes someone that touches his or her life in that unique way that stays forever. Even if he never speaks to me again.