Falling apart

February 27, 2010
He called. And sent text messages. Finally 9 days after the break up it was time to talk.
“My life has been falling apart since that night.”
Somehow that admission made it feel a little better. He went on to tell me about the things that had gone wrong since that night. The list just seemed to grow. Most of the items had absolutely nothing to do with me. But they were things that seem bigger when you face them alone.
Like so many times over the last year I listened as he talked. And encouraged. Him. Gone were the “we’ll make it through” assurances, they were replaced by “you will figure it out.”
He apologised again for the way things happened. Truths thrown at me in an alcohol induced conscious clearing session. “You broke my heart, you hurt me, badly. But I forgive you.” His response, “you are too good for me.”
“Forgiveness isn’t about you. It’s about me.” I have no intention of harboring bitterness or resentment, that’s not who I am, as a person. I’ve already been a person I didn’t recognise, twisted by lies and deceit of the man who had sworn to love me. I refuse to be that person again. This man, with his truths, no matter how painful, does not have the power to change me, my character.

When I left I stood in his doorway, turned and looked at him. “Friends?” He asked. I nodded my consent. But can we really be friends? After everything we’ve been through?

All my friends tell me no. Experience screams it isn’t possible. I should just walk away without looking back. I shouldn’t answer his text message. I should pick up the phone when it rings.

But I do. Because despite everything, I refuse to be one more person in his life who walked away. I’m just not sure if that makes me noble or foolish.


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