Detour Ahead
After two dates and many stimulating email conversations, we realized that there wasn't the spark that would lead us to fall head-over-heels in love. I, who usually struggle to communicate more than the effusive, positive romantic emotions with someone I date, whether I am two dates in or two years in, actually brought up this lack of the zing. I wasn't sure if being so open now was progress for me or merely the recognition that I felt I really had nothing to lose.
It took a few rounds before we finally got to the heart of it, and I think we were both relieved to find we were on the same page. While we enjoyed each other's company, felt we could talk about anything running through our respective random minds together, and even found each other physically attractive, we just didn't match up for the ultimate romance. This reassured me as I was exploring a possible spark with another man. As for him, after a three-year dream relationship fell apart, he hadn't felt a deep spark with anyone new in eight years, which when he thought about it too much, worried him.
Living four roads from each other, sharing a passion for culture, education, movies, and writing, he wondered if I felt we still had something to offer each other. When he needed someone to come over and watch DVDs and talk in PJs, he wondered if I might be that someone to call; he hadn't had that in two-and-half years. Without hesitation, I said of course; I recognized the budding of a beautiful, new friendship.
This type of companionship is perhaps what I've missed most about being in a long-term relationship. Giving up that go-to person with whom to talk endlessly into the night, watch the movies I've been dying to see on DVD for months on the couch, and all those other seemingly little things that often bring you comfort on a lonesome night. Coupled friends, my parents, friends who live far away--as wonderful as each of them are in their own right, it just isn't the same.
It's why on those lonely nights I still find myself texting back my ex when he asks his ridiculous greeting, "How doin?" Of course there are the little things I miss about him--his ridiculously wooden marionette-like dancing, the way he tried to pretend he wasn't sleepy as he was nodding off on the futon...But what I perhaps miss most of all is the companionship being with him for those two years represented.
Don't misunderstand me, I love holding hands, cuddling, and a gloriously sweaty night. But if I had to, I could go without that for quite a long time. What I miss, what I yearn for are those moments of emotional intimacy, sometimes spoken, sometimes in the shared silence, where just being there for each other speaks volumes and brings solace. Until I find that kind of love again, I would be content with this Harry-met-Sally type of friendship.
It took a few rounds before we finally got to the heart of it, and I think we were both relieved to find we were on the same page. While we enjoyed each other's company, felt we could talk about anything running through our respective random minds together, and even found each other physically attractive, we just didn't match up for the ultimate romance. This reassured me as I was exploring a possible spark with another man. As for him, after a three-year dream relationship fell apart, he hadn't felt a deep spark with anyone new in eight years, which when he thought about it too much, worried him.
Living four roads from each other, sharing a passion for culture, education, movies, and writing, he wondered if I felt we still had something to offer each other. When he needed someone to come over and watch DVDs and talk in PJs, he wondered if I might be that someone to call; he hadn't had that in two-and-half years. Without hesitation, I said of course; I recognized the budding of a beautiful, new friendship.
This type of companionship is perhaps what I've missed most about being in a long-term relationship. Giving up that go-to person with whom to talk endlessly into the night, watch the movies I've been dying to see on DVD for months on the couch, and all those other seemingly little things that often bring you comfort on a lonesome night. Coupled friends, my parents, friends who live far away--as wonderful as each of them are in their own right, it just isn't the same.
It's why on those lonely nights I still find myself texting back my ex when he asks his ridiculous greeting, "How doin?" Of course there are the little things I miss about him--his ridiculously wooden marionette-like dancing, the way he tried to pretend he wasn't sleepy as he was nodding off on the futon...But what I perhaps miss most of all is the companionship being with him for those two years represented.
Don't misunderstand me, I love holding hands, cuddling, and a gloriously sweaty night. But if I had to, I could go without that for quite a long time. What I miss, what I yearn for are those moments of emotional intimacy, sometimes spoken, sometimes in the shared silence, where just being there for each other speaks volumes and brings solace. Until I find that kind of love again, I would be content with this Harry-met-Sally type of friendship.