You know those things that happen in your life that sound like something off the pages of a New York Times Bestseller? The scenes that can't possibly happen outside of fiction? Well, once again, the tragedies that should be reserved for novels and the like, have crept into my life.
It started this morning when I checked my voicemail to find a message from Colin, an ex-boyfriend I haven't talked to in about a year and a half.
True, I broke up with him, but it took me a while to get over him. One of those breakups where the primary reason was that I was scared of my feelings for him. He was also trying to decide whether to take a position at a magazine--following his journalism goals. The catch (because there always is one, isn't there?) was that he would have to move across the state. He didn't want to leave me. I didn't want to hold him back from this opportunity. He brought up the subject of marriage. Not a proposal, but as an option, putting the offer out there. Evidently, he was more sure than I was. I felt I was too young, and wasn't sure about transferring colleges, and I just wasn't sure if it was right yet, so I let him go. He moved, and we haven't talked since.
Until he called and said he wanted to go out, catch up, things like that. And, truth be told, I just wasn't sure. I mean, why would he want to talk to me after so long? Turns out he had just heard I was in the area, found that to be a coincidence, and had to check it out, but I wasn't sure.
I guess I was afraid of getting caught up in everything again. What if everything had changed? What if it hadn't? Could we go back to how we once were? I just didn't know if I wanted to get into all of that.
So he pulls up to the front door, and I come out (I've been waiting a few minutes, so I don't wait for him to get out of the car and everything), and get in the car. Nice car. Something small and blue, gray leather interior. Nice. Anyhow, I really look at him then. I could tell it was him through the windshield, but this was somehow different. He had changed, grown up just a little in the past year and a half. Same green eyes, but he was wearing his hair longer, and had lost a touch of that little boy look he had had. We talked a little on the short ride to the Mexican place up the street.
I got out of the car, and we both came around the front of the car. He put his hands on my shoulders, and said that I looked great. He kissed my cheek, then took my hand.
I wasn't sure about all of this, but it felt right. Maybe I'm really not over him after all. In that moment, I wanted to try and find what we had before. He walked me straight back to a table, and said there was someone he wanted me to meet.
Melanie, his wife. She was sitting at the table, and stood when I got there. She was almost exactly my height, pretty, but her hair was longer than mine--down past her waist, even braided.
(You know, I feel like I'm trying to write some kind of novel here. Clinical detachment, maybe?)
I swear, though, I couldn't breathe.
I made it through dinner, though. Somehow. Then I came back home, and have been crying pretty much ever since.
I lost him, that's all there is to it. I loved him then. I guess I still love him now, but it's too late. All of those times I should have called him when I thought about it. Should have tried to get him back as soon as I realized breaking up with him was a mistake. And I knew, even then, that it was.
I guess I was just afraid. I mean, I had never felt like that before. It scared me, and I ran, it's as simple as that. Maybe not simple, but there isn't a whole lot to it. I got scared, I ran, he got over me, and moved on. I lost.
I do hope he's happy, that's not the problem, but I guess I just wish I was, too.
Why does this hurt so bad? It's almost a physical pain, the feeling of my heart being twisted in someones large fist...
Maybe it's all this crying, I'm starting to get a little melodramatic.
I love him. I guess I just have to get over him...again.
Current Mood: 
crushedCurrent Music: Natalie Imbruglia. Very loudly
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april's journal
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