“For her part [she] needs to begin to curb her angry outbursts – – not because they are unjustified, but because they will not give her what she is really seeking. Anger may make her feel more powerful, temporarily. However, psychologist Steven Stosny observes that that “if loss of power was the problem in intimate betrayal, then anger would be the solution. But the great pain in intimate betrayal has little to do with the loss of power. Perceived loss of value is what causes your pain – – you feel less loveable.”
Dear – –
This is not an apology. I am not sorry for the outbursts, for the kind of hurt from my kind of words, and the times I carved through your metal with my scorching blade. I am not sorry for the sparks, and if you got burned. You were the one warming yourself all over me. You should be the one on your knees, respecting years, respecting
I am not sorry for the discomfort of a buzzing phone. For street corner revelations, or for Actually … tied up in your silence, I am not sorry for any time I broke free. Understand, from behind your perennial shield, you share
some half this responsibility.
This is NOT an apology. My dear ‘Henry‘. Your arms-lengthing would provoke one more sober than me. Hard-won, I now at least have clarity. That withholding is an act of emotional cruelty. Revelation, finally! Your refusal had nothing to do with me.
No rust-mouthed man gets to (silently) say. If I deserve to be loved. And when I am free.
“Whether the ending is done in person or in writing, it must be responsible, mature, caring, and clear. He needs to … appreciate the depth of what they shared … and give her closure. There is no way for this not to be painful, but it makes a world of difference if [she] knows that she’s not the only one feeling heartbroken.”
“Speak the words you have swallowed. We have – – years of silence to fill. Let us crowd this night with all we have not said, let us cover every last second with our secrets. Whisper them soft and sure against my skin. Tell me goodbye, and tell me why.
Dust me for your fingerprints one last time, hold me up to the light, and see yourself all over. Know that you were here. Here we are. Grasp at what we will leave behind. What we are losing. There are ways for us to end this.
Love me just enough. Then let me go. Hold tight all through these midnight hours, then stand up, be brave. And watch. me. walk. away.”
My darling, there are ways for us to end this.
Good god. She went so far as to tell you what to do. You have always done what you are told to do. How could you not even give her that …
I will not love you less.
I won’t meet you for that coffee. I will not sit in glaring light and hardened air, the hover of history between us. I will not settle down across from you, nerves tapping tabletops, our eyes never holding.
Pretending I don’t want to pull you close or feel your hand against my thigh.
I will not play with sanity, or wash this clean. I don’t have that artifice in me, or your ability to skim over the storm and swell of our wild, wide sea.
I could not bear the loss so casually, the diminishing of what we used to be. You cannot, must not ask that of me. Not when I have loved you so desperately. Not when you have been my life’s fatality (love should never die unhurriedly).
I will not – not ever – love you less, or with any less of me.
“And somehow the memory of how complete we used to be – is keeping me from you.”
~ If I Ever Say I’m Over You by John Bucchino
Hey, it’s me …
If ever you are reading this – I’m sorry I said you had a thick neck.
Everything else was (mostly) true.
And the answer really was yes.
What if you had the chance to make things right. To fix the way we left it.
Would you take it? What would it take?
(Turns out the answer was both surprising – and already known)
I want to pick up the phone and say hey it’s me. I want to listen to you roll every syllable together in that funny, rushed way I loved. To hear the safety of your voice down the line and not think about anything at all. To spin a story about my day where you’re still the one I want to tell.
The bitter has been sweetened by wine and time; when I heard your name just now it made me smile. I think this might be what they mean by the end. When the hurts and the pain have gone away, how it really just comes down to this:
The sudden desire to say hey it’s me – and how I keep the phone in my pocket.