(no subject)
I watch him sleep: knees up, arms sprawling, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. He sleeps so easily, so deeply, so trustingly -- like he knows nothing bad will happen in the night. Like he knows the world will be the same in the morning. I listen to his breathing, watch him twitch ever so slightly, as if his dreams startle him. I remember sleeping beside him and I wonder how I ever could have turned my back, pulled the covers over my head, pushed his arms away. I wish for the bed to turn into a time-warp, so that I could crawl in beside him and go back to my right to be there.
Watching him these past two weeks from across this emotional distance has made me realize just what I did wrong. I'm building up a tally sheet of regrets, ticking off every time I pushed him away, every time I unthinkingly rejected him. I spent so much of my life keeping people away that I was completely unprepared to let someone in. I was so skilled at hiding my wants that I must have seemed completely coldhearted, completely uninterested. I never told him how happy I was when we moved in together, how much I enjoyed setting up the apartment, how much I revelled in our own place. Instead I complained about spending so much money on the bathroom set, I groused about the beanbags previous tenants had left on our balcony, I nagged him about leaving clothes on the floor. The story of my life: I want it, I enjoy it, I don't admit it. I'm all about denying myself, simply because I'm too used to things being taken away if I visibly benefit from them -- but how was he to understand? No, honey, the more I reject something, the more I want it, really.
So I complained, I rejected, I denied, over and over again. I never once explained, I never once opened myself to the possibilities we shared. I was scared, I was stupid, I was still learning -- these are no excuses. You can't starve a heart forever; eventually, it goes looking for something healthier to love. We all want someone to show appreciation for the happiness we try to give, we all want someone who can reciprocate. Every guy wants his girl to bask in his glow, and every girl wants a glow to bask in.
"This isn't about you getting your way or me getting my way all the time," he told me once, "it's just about us complimenting each other. We're supposed to be able to compliment each other; it's what couples are supposed to do. We're supposed to be two halves of a whole, and you still want to be whole on your own."
He's the kind of person who needs to feel needed. He's the kind of person who buys gifts and opens doors and tries to smooth the way for the person he loves. I'm the kind of person who needs too much and so denies all need, going into auto-pilot and stubbornly insisting, I can do it myself. Disinterest and independence and pride are my crutches. They are also my biggest flaws. It's no wonder he got tired of it.
He's developed the habit of slipping into my room every morning as I sleep, crawling under the covers beside me and holding me. I rouse myself just enough to realize he's there, and we talk for a bit. It's the only time we really get along anymore, when I am half-asleep and he's not completely exhausted. I wish we'd figured this out a month ago. I wish we'd been able to talk a month ago. Now that he's just a friend (of sorts) and I've got nothing to lose, I find myself able to explain better the way I feel. I find myself telling him exactly what I'm thinking, exactly what I want, exactly why I'm afraid, because I know that now it won't make any difference. I know what I've lost and I know there's no chance of getting it back -- and I also know why. I know why I was thinking of leaving him, and I know why he ultimately left me.
I wish I'd known before. I wish I'd been able to admit it before. I wish -- so much. Every morning, I wish he'd stay there with me. Every night, I wish I wasn't going to bed alone. Every time I cry, I wish I wouldn't. Every time I see him, I simultaneously wish he'd go completely away and wish he'd never left me to begin with. I can hear my Grammy now -- If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
I wish I could say I'm learning some great truth from all of this, but all I've really learned is this: It's hard to watch a life you built with and upon someone else fall apart. It's hard to rebuild. It's hard -- so hard -- to "just be friends." And it's hard to let yourself need someone else, but there comes a time when you have to -- or you'll lose everything.
It's damn hard to lose everything.