Here we were, after all these months, the nights, the days, the phone calls, the arguments. After so many times of almost ending it, we were finally about to do it. I knew it was for the best, and I'm sure she felt the same. But still, while on the outside my actions and words indicated I was ready to go and that I no longer cared, inside my heart was clinging to her as tightly as it could. And while initially, the physical body may win that battle. In the long run, the heart will still be holding on, long after she is gone. When I can no longer see her face, hear her voice, smell her perfume, look into her eyes, my heart will still feel her, long for her, remember her, love her.
There is always that moment when you feel like you still have a chance to save it all. And you think that maybe if you just say "I'm sorry" or "I don't want this" or "I love you" that maybe, just maybe, everything will be OK. I mean, is it so bad to apologize even when you don't feel like you were wrong? Is it so wrong to give in and lose one battle in order to save months or years spent building a relationship? No, it is not wrong. But it is difficult. It is a hard thing to swallow one's pride. But pride is not much of a companion.
How did we get here? When did we stop fighting for each other and start fighting against each other? That is the million dollar question. And I have no answer. I suppose that it starts with something small. Some seemingly insignificant moment when maybe I did not return her "I love you," or maybe I hung up the phone on her, or maybe I forgot to call to say I was going to be late. And once one person stops giving one hundred percent, stops living for the other, it is only a matter of time before the other becomes weary of trying to sustain the relationship by himself.
Anyway, back to the moment. Maybe I could stop it. I probably should stop it, or at least try. Looking back one day, I know I will see so many times when she was reaching out to me, just begging me to pay attention, to change things, to right the ship. Yet we just sailed on, slowly going down with the ship and acting as if we never saw the treacherous waters raging around us.
And suddenly I remember. I remember the girl I fell in love with. I remember every sweet thing she used to do. I remember us, before we became her and me. And I love her. And so I say it. "Let's not do this. Can't we work this out?" But then her face is strange. Her mind is made up. I can see it without her ever saying a word. It is too late. Her body is there, but she is already gone. And in that instant, my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. It breaks. My eyes water. My life, my world, my best friend, my partner, is gone.
And then the phone rings. And I wake up. All at once I realize it was all a dream. Everything is OK. Wrong number. I hang up and call her. I wake her up. It does not matter. I have to tell her. I tell her I love her twenty times. She has no idea what has gotten into me. But that is OK. She is here. She is wonderful. Life is good. And I am thankful that it was only a dream. And I make a vow to myself to try harder, to do better, so I will never have to face the end.
"Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table. But you only want the ones that you can't get..."