This Time Was Different

I knew better. Despite what he said. Despite what he did. Despite what he wanted me to believe. I knew, in the way a woman always does, that he had long moved on from the bond we once shared. And while I predicted the day would eventually come where we’d be forced to go our separate ways, the piece of my heart that always saw the best in him hoped he would have handled it differently.

It was a game we played, he and I. He pretended he was committed to giving “us” a chance. I pretended he would actually try, and in the end we’d both pretend that the two of us were never meant to be. It was a cyclical conundrum of sorts. A bit of a merry-go-round of emotions that always led me back to the same place: tempted to see if we had what it takes, but woefully aware of the probability it’d never last.

But this time was different.

This time the merry-go-round stopped spinning before I was ready to get off, and after two years of silly playground antics in the city known to break hearts, it was time to admit that mine had fallen victim.

How did I get here? I wasn’t quite sure. But when I looked back at our teen- like affair, it was painfully obvious that the one thing I always wanted, was the one thing that was always missing. In between his assertions of wanting more and excuses for why he couldn’t provide it, I was left in limbo, hoping that one day he would actually give us – time.

I explained it away, justifying inconsistencies with reasons I knew held no weight. Claiming that both of our hearts were connected in this woven web of uncertainty and fear, that led us to press the breaks on pursuing something much greater. But the truth was, I simply wasn’t his person, and somehow my heart would have to untangle itself from the crisscrossing lines his alternative facts had formed.

It was time to break free. So I did. And just as I opened my eyes to his lies, my rose-colored glasses went missing. No longer did I see the man who won me over with his charm. Instead what stood before me, was a figure I wasn’t quite sure I knew. Caught up in the idea of his stated intentions, I realized I had latched on to what he said, and blissfully ignored what he did.

Was any of it real? I couldn’t say for sure. But the more I looked back, the more I had to admit that the reason we had gotten as far as we did, was solely because I refused to let go. He owned my heart in a way not even I was aware of; toying with it, taking it for granted, mistreating it for his gain, and manipulating it so covertly, I could not recognize it for what it was. All the while I was holding on for dear life, and he had long let go.

I guess it wasn’t in the cards. Actually – time had proven that. And it had also proven that although I made him out to be the right guy for my future, he was best suited to be a guy of my past. In his inability to be honest about his present, I found the courage to admit our time was up.

I can’t say for sure why he didn’t tell me. Maybe he couldn’t muster up the strength to confess he’d moved on. Maybe his inflated ego induced this idea that the truth would hurt me beyond repair. Maybe he thought that if he out-right admitted I wasn’t “the one”, my ego would be bruised forever. Or maybe, just maybe, he feared that if he confessed his need for something a little different, a little simpler, my heart would implode.

Whatever it was, he chose to secretly move on to the woman who offered convenience, with a little less depth and a lot less sophistication. And though I’m disappointed he didn’t have the soul to tell me, the part of me that still loves him, wishes him well.

There was a time when I was convinced we could have changed the ending. That we could have landed on the same page long enough to write an entire book. And now I ask myself, “at what cost?” I had reluctantly played all the games I had energy for. Despite what he said, he’d never give us a chance and despite what my heart wanted, my head conceded the memories of our never-quite-there romance were all she wrote.

He’s the guy I never expected to fall for, but happily watched as I did. Now as I dust myself off, attend to the scrapes, and Band-Aid the wounds his presence left behind, I find solace in knowing that the bruises will heal in their own time. They say love is a losing game, and that’s okay. God promised me something amazing while reminding me that the road to restoration may hurt, but these things happen.