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Love was · 27 April 05
Slowly, and not at all surely, I am opening up again, perhaps… I am coming to realise that not only did I break my friend’s heart, but he broke mine. Again and again, over the years that we were together, both as lovers and as friends… He was a great person, kind and generous, and he genuinely loved me. But I fell in love with a person that he was not. A person I thought was able to care about me, be interested in me, and share in my joys and passions in life. For that is what I did for him, for a while…
Whenever I tried to open up to him, he scarred me. Starting to read the newspaper, or just plain failing to pay attention and suddenly starting on another subject. His reaction to a misunderstood thought – “Don’t be so stupid” – cut as deep as it could. Looking back now, we had some good times together, but overlaying it all is the knowledge that every weekend we had together ended in an argument. I know I was not innocent in that, but when I saw him again recently, he admitted that he does exactly the same thing with his new girlfriend… admitted he was wrong. So much appreciated but so many years too late! Am I too unconciliating if I say that what mattered was having good weekends together? Why was that not enough, why does every one have to have that memory that it ended in an argument? Our time travelling together was amazing for where we went and what we experienced, but sometimes I catch myself wishing I had gone alone, followed my original plan.
I do not love him any more. I know that for sure, now, though I did sometimes wonder, in the years we lived together as friends. But I am only now discovering the scars that are smothering my heart, picking at them a little to see whether I want to let it feel. For maybe somewhere there is someone who is able to care for me, love me the way I surely want to love him.