This may sound sudden, because I hadn’t really written about our problems. It just didn’t seem right to do so. But we had them — almost from the beginning.
He is a wonderful man and I love him. He made me laugh. He allowed me to be silly and was silly right back. He was the most affectionate, demonstrative guy I’d ever dated, which I adored. He told me he loved me several times a day. He was passionate. He was chivalrous. He made me feel special.
But we had very little in common and couldn’t see eye to eye on many different issues. We were polar opposites in terms of politics, religion, music, movies, and education level among other matters.
We argued a lot, and when we did, it often got ugly. Very rarely was the problem at hand resolved. Rather, it was swept under the rug.
Our issues were impossible to work out, because in most cases, neither of us believed we were doing anything wrong. For example, I thought he was mean when we argued, he thought he was just expressing his feelings. He thought I was too structured, I thought I was only making loose plans.
Who is right? It doesn’t matter. If neither party thinks their behavior is broken, they can’t (or won’t) fix it. For a while, we both really tried to change, but ultimately, it just wasn’t who we were.
It’s not an issue of him being wrong or me being wrong. We’re just wrong for each other. And it makes me so sad.
We fought on Friday. By Saturday, he wanted to make up, although we never did settle the argument. However, I had already made up my mind.
Right before Christmas, we had gotten into a tremendous, ridiculous blowout. But we’d made all these holiday plans, so we stuck it out. I told myself the next time we fought I would end it. This was it.
I went to his place on Saturday to talk. We discussed everything that was wrong. We weren’t a good match, we had nothing in common, we viewed relationships – and the world in general – differently. It was all true and we both knew it.
I sobbed uncontrollably. He said he didn’t want me to leave. I didn’t want to leave. So I didn’t. He kept telling me how much he loved me. I stayed with him that night and we made love in the morning. Afterwards, he took a nap.
I was still in love and didn’t want it to end. But I knew if we continued, we’d just be prolonging the inevitable and would wind up hating each other months, or years, later.
Two hours later, he woke up. I leaned over and softly told him it was over. He seemed to think it was sudden, even though we’d discussed it the night before – many times, actually. I wept as I kissed his salty face, squeezed him tight and said that I loved him.
It was one of the few times I’d ever seen him silent. I collected my things and left in a hurry. I was afraid if I didn’t go quickly I’d change my mind. I cried all the way home.
All I can think about is my last image of him, lying in bed naked with sad eyes, looking stunned as he watched me walk out the door. And now, as I am writing this through tears, I miss him so much.
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Categories: True Story