“There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald
I saw you last weekend at a place we’d discovered together. I had this feeling that you’d be there that night, somehow. And, of all nights, I guessed right. Should I be surprised?
I stepped out from the bathroom and in my peripheral vision… Your tall figure, your brisk walk to the bar. It was all too familiar. And trailing behind you was some girl you’d brought with you.
When the feelings of the past come surging up, in that moment it’s as if all of our negatives had dissipated and been forgotten. Nevermind those late night drunken accusatory phone calls and text messages. And who cares about that one night you got so drunk and I never heard from you and you ended up in jail? Or the times when you told me you wanted to kill yourself and told me it was my fault? Where were those memories when I saw you?
Funny how the mind works. In the days following, I felt – feel – this deep longing for the best of what we had. The intimacy, that intellectual connection, the companionship. I haven’t felt that void in a while and yet when it comes back, it hits hard.
But what I’m longing for is just a fantasy of sorts, isn’t it? Because we never really JUST had that love, intimacy, connection, and companionship – did we?
The truth is, we were hopelessly codependent for so long that we didn’t even realize it until it was too late. When I finally realized it, it was the beginning of the end for us. What we had in the mix, too, was your deep denial of your alcoholism – and hell, my blindness to it right alongside you. Depression was there too, de-saturating so much of your life and I didn’t even know its presence until your cutting and drinking and our fighting coincided. Confusion, dishonesty, blurred boundaries muddled all of it.
So that’s the reality. I miss parts of what we had – so, so much. But that, as parts of a whole, is not real. I’m sorry – not to you, nor to me – but I’m just sorry for that. May there be more, and better, for the both of us. I love you, but like they all seem to say – love isn’t enough.