You were my guy. Mine. Nobody else's.
And I was willing to keep showing up for you, for us. I was so proud to think of you as my guy, to tell everybody that you were My Guy.
I was willing to keep that faith that we were together for a greater good; for something bigger than either one of us could ever do alone. To serve the higher purpose.
I was willing to work on it. Even when things looked rough.
I saw the age showing in your grey hair and your furrowed brow lines, and I didn't care.
I saw how your back hurt, and I didn't stop loving you.
I saw how you needed things at home to be a certain way, and I didn't care.
I saw your limitations, yet I never thought that they would become ours. That they would stop us.
And I saw the distance between us, emotionally, yet I was willing to stick it out. To try to find a common language between us, for when things got tough, or annoying, or confusing. To talk it out, or call a time-out, or whatever it would take, to still be a couple when the sun rose again.
I even slept in a different room, without you - missing you- in case it would help.
I wanted to stick it out through *all* of that. I was in it for the long haul.
Committed to something greater; committed to that third entity, that triangle, that THING that is created /is available /is generated, when two people come together, in love. And in service to the greater good.
And, I believed you.
I believed you when you said you were ready; I believed you when you said that I was the one you would keep "for the next 80 years".
I put up with your poor communication skills, with your passive-aggressive shenanigans. I tolerated your mixed messages and your ill treatment of me. Your projections and your fault-finding and your criticism.
Because I loved you. I really loved you. Never before have I felt this type of all-encompassing love, this much pardon. This much expanse.
I saw the highest in you. I saw the most golden, the most shiny, the most beautiful version of you. Even when we went to bed at odds, I held to that shinier, more beautiful image I had.
Several times, I saw your heart- at its tenderest. And knew that it was good. And pure. I saw you shed tears of vulnerability. I heard you speak rare words of true authenticity. I knew that I was witnessing something most haven't. It was special. And I cherished it.
I saw your tenderness, and your fears. I heard your shame, your inadequacy. And yet even with that, I not only stayed, but found myself wanting to find ways to love you even more, for it.
I wanted to fix everything for you. I wanted to take the discrepancies and grievances from your childhood and wave my magic wand and make them go away.
I wanted to be there for you when you came home, when you left home, when you were home. All of it. I was ready for all of it.
To give myself to all of it; to commit to you and us and this thing we had and even to this place.
I watched you while you fell asleep, and even with your big ears and your funny, crooked nose, I still wanted to envelope you with my love. I wanted to wrap you in a blanket of safety, and promise you that you would always be home, in my arms. I looked at you while you slept, and contemplated how I could love you more, the next day.
I wanted to give you everything that I, too, desire - that ultimate trust, that safe haven in a storm, that solid place upon which to rest your head when life treated you badly or even when it was fine.
I tried, oh god I tried.
But despite your promises and your fancy romantic offerings in the beginning, you couldn't do it. You weren't there for me. For us. For this beautiful thing we had.
After a while, you just disappeared on me. You just checked out.
{sigh}
I thought we had everything.
Now we have nothing.
