“Even when the love’s gone, don’t I know it? Even when the love’s gone, don’t I show it?”
The end of romantic love is such a private affair. It is a room big enough for only two. When two mature adults have decided to put an end to what they’ve had, to go their separate ways, it is a deeply painful experience, unique in its ability to go straight to our core.
It is an exercise in nostalgia and a fragile understanding cobbled out of battered emotions and the will to press on.
There is no such thing as a clean end, either.
Love goes on. It may take another form, but it does not die entirely. Once we have made the decision to cut it loose in its present form, it begins to assume another shape, almost without our doing. It is a force and often times, it will dictate its form before we have gotten our footing.
Anyone who has loved and lost, loved and let go, knows what hard work it can be to reconcile all that we have been through. Love’s end is humbling. It’s a brutal teacher. Ignoring the lessons of love’s end puts us at peril of repeating the same mistakes with somebody new. It prevents us from moving forward in any meaningful way. People will use you as a late night anecdote. They will speak of your misadventures and shake their heads. You will have become a parody.
I will tell you something that is truly frightening: getting caught in that private room. Realizing that you are caught between two people who are in that extremely intimate process of extricating themselves from one another. This is somewhere that you never want to find yourself. The emotions of others are not meant to be fodder for your nightmares, or fuel for your anxiety attacks. These people might work very hard at hiding their turmoil and their pain. If you are tuned in, you will feel it anyway. It will make mincemeat of your sanity.
He told you it was finished. You believed him. At the time, he believed himself. What he didn’t know, what he couldn’t know, was what his hidden heart would put him through. He would miss her sometimes. It would only be natural. Except now, he would feel guilty about it, like he was betraying you, because you were already wrapped up in it. You were wrapped up so tightly in it that if you focused on it too much, you could barely breathe.
And the battle that will go on in your soul: a desire to be understanding and patient, and the desire to run screaming from all of the messy human emotion. You will want to stamp your foot like a child and demand to be exclusively loved.
In the end, your only choice is to go through all of it. To see with clear eyes, to not allow yourself to succumb to insecurity or pettiness. You must rise above and believe that you will be rewarded for what you are going through.
You might make it.
You might survive it.
If you do, you will have built strength and character.
And even after all of it you end up alone again, as much as it will sting, you will have gained plenty.
Blake Mills – Wintersong
I [Aric] have taken it upon myself to passively bully Tara [who writes these] into – in a few months time – putting the best TwTs into a short story novel. one per week per year or something like that. am open to ideas, but if you agree, do me a favor and join the group on FB. this shit is too good to be only seen on this little blog.