Friday, August 14, 2009
There was this one time over 8 years ago when I wanted to marry him and he wasn't sure. It's every girl's nightmare. He loved me, that's for sure. We couldn't be without each other. He would spend every last second with me, every day, with no end in sight. But he wasn't sure. He needed some time to be sure. I was sick of it, sick of knowing and him not.
So one night after a week of hard conversations, we broke up. We both sat there in excruciating pain in my living room as we discussed our future, "You can go to Arizona for the summer and I will stay here and get started at the U", I said between sobs. It was all just too hard to handle. We were up most of the night until he finally drove home at first morning light. I left for work with no sleep. I went in the bathroom and cried. I threw my uneaten sandwich away. There was drama, there were tears. All day long.
He came by that evening and there were some intense silences. Some not knowing. There was gravity. He had also had a horrible day. We discussed some things. We decided we couldn't be apart ever again. He would get his thoughts sorted out and meanwhile there would be no pressure from me.
We kissed again, not 24 hours after our first and only break up.
It was good to be home again.
Happy Anniversary, baby.