On July 17th 2015, I said goodbye to my almost lover. I went to his office with two goals in mind. First I gave him a copy of the children’s book I wrote, for him to give to his son. (Alphabet Antics can be found on Amazon.) I signed it and everything and told him to be sure to read it to the little guy often.
Then I said goodbye. At first he thought I was moving away. I assured him, I wasn’t but then pointed out that the branch he works at isn’t exactly close to my house and that my life wasn’t in that part of town anymore so that I wouldn’t be back.
I then confessed it was getting harder and harder to see him, that how I felt about him would never ever change, but that I couldn’t keep playing the “Maybe this visit he’ll realize he needs me in his life,” game. I know he cares about me. I know he wants me in his life. Just for whatever reason, he can’t find a place for me. And I can’t keep hoping that will change.
I restated both what I wanted and what I needed but that I understood it wasn’t happening and that I needed to walk away because I was getting hurt in the process of all this.
Of course I’m crying through all this, and he’s apologizing, he never meant to hurt me. I know that. I told him I knew that. I assured him I wouldn’t be sitting there if I thought he’d hurt me on purpose. He looked so broken watching me cry, hearing my words.
I then told him that I wasn’t going to say never contact me again. He knows how to get ahold of me, I even made sure. I did warn him though, that if he opens that door he needs to be prepared to walk through it; drinks once a month, right up to my husband has offered our bed. Anywhere in between. I just can’t keep visiting him at the branch and I can’t be the person he texts once in a blue moon. I either need him or I need to move on.
Then I told him goodbye and left.
And that may be the very last I’ll ever hear or see of my almost lover.
There aren’t adequate words in the English language for this pain.
Except maybe: Isolation