He told me that I wasn't the one. And that he couldn't love me.
And I told him that then I didn't want to date him anymore, because I'm looking for the whole deal.
We had a day full of plans, a month full of plans, but only one of us was eyeing a life full of plans, so as quickly as it came, it was over. Doesn't it always seem that it's at the moment of release and belief and hope that it all disappears sometimes? I had just stopped being afraid. I just begun to allow myself to believe. I had just admitted to myself that that wall I thought was there - was worried was there - was miles above where I'd already fallen to. I had just begun openly and confidently telling people about my boyfriend.
Do you always feel stupid? Because I always feel stupid. Foolish.
Earlier he said that he wished I could scuba dive. And I thought, I wish you could enjoy a good glass of wine, but what's that got to do with anything truly important? I want to believe that with the wisdom of my 35 years, I know what's important, and that he is young and foolish. But the heart is smarter than all of us. It knows what it wants and doesn't want beyond the beliefs of our soul and the wisdom of our mind. Sometimes, the heart simply knows.
I always think about all the faults I acknowledged and released. All the things I was willing to live with. It always feels like the other person is less forgiving, more hung up on this or that. It always feels like, fine, go find someone else who can deal with this quirk and that insanity. But we all have those things that someone someday is going to have to live with.
I thought yes with this one. Not because my clock is ticking or because I'm over 30 and desperate to be with someone but because of who he is. I thought yes. I could see it, feel it. Last night I was sitting next to him in a restaurant, and I was looking at the faintest of laugh lines around his eyes, and I thought yes.
Two people this week thought my "biological clock" was ticking, and it was weird to think, wow, they are completely wrong, but it's not like I can convince them with protest. I remain open to possibilities and paths, that's who I am.
I believe that each breakup hurts more now because I am getting closer. This one hurt much more than I could have expected. And I with my ego am so shocked by it. So surprised. A big part of me thinks he will change his mind, wake up, love me. But I must trust that he knows his feelings. I must trust that if he could love me the way I deserve, he would have never risked the you're-not-the-one-but-I-still-want-to-be-with-you-for-now play. A woman like me who stays in that game is hoping for an emotional turn-around, and that's foolish. Sometimes it even works, but it never gets you what you most deserve. Someone who whole-heartedly wants you. Loves you. And isn't the type who needs convincing or tricks. The strongest foundation to build a life on isn't built on manipulations.
Perhaps I am too idealistic (always), but it's who I am, and I like me this way.
In a strange, background way, breakups have begun to hurt less, too. Because I know that I will be OK. Because I know that I will stand for nothing less than I deserve and that is precisely why it will find its way to me eventually. And if I am single, then that is OK, too. Because I am open to what life brings, and I'm not hung up on anyone else's script. It is truly wonderful to know oneself. But oh, it's amazing how heartbreak actually hurts in your heart. Do we project that? Or is that why it's called heartbreak? This one took my breath away.
I want to drive to work and take his picture off my bulletin board so it's not there on Monday morning.
I hope that it is easy for him, finding love. I hope that the next one is just it for him, so he never hits his 30s and learns how precious it is to connect at all. It's knowledge that makes you powerful and wise and more ready and able to commit for a lifetime, I think, but it's hard earned.
My phone is off, my friends, till Monday. Comments are closed on this post. Don't worry, I'll be OK.
I'm going to the movies.