I Had Loved Her

I had loved her for so long that love felt lesser than love should. That 'spark' we once shared had long simmered, and our intimacy was no longer a healthy flame; but a dwindling ember. It isn't that we could never rekindle the fire that once burned through us, every time that we met, skin to skin - all that it took to reignite it was the gentlest breath, blown softly against the still-glimmering coals. But we were exhausted - I was exhausted. I let myself become cold, and uncertain, and uninterested. I became too comfortable, too expectant, and all too soon. Loving her became a cryptic haiku, written in my DNA and intertwined within my existence - she was a part of me; and it is all too easy to forget how special and fragile your connection to a person is once their presence becomes a naturality.

I had loved her for so long that I had began to take her for granted. I had taken her for granted for so long that I had become bitter. And I had been bitter towards her for so long that I was oblivious to it all. And now - it was too late.

I watched her slowly pack her bags, tears flooding her cheeks. She wanted me to stop her. She moved so slowly, and each movement seemed to carry the weight of two years of hurt and heartache upon it. I could physically see the resistance against her own actions, and her desperate longing for me to pull her away, tell her I needed her, and hold her until she felt secure once more. I watched her throw meaningless trinkets and clothes she hadn't worn in months in to more bags than she could possibly leave with in a hurry, and said not a word. In this moment, I was paralyzed by a realization. I loved this woman more deeply and more truly than I could describe with any word, in any language; with any song, or any note. I started to recall the countless times we had done this - and all the while, I'd thought she was just being excessive, emotional, and absurd.

"If you don't want to be together, we can break up." She'd snap, and I would think to myself 'I have given this girl the world, how could she think I want to break up? This is all her.'

"Seems like that's what you want." I started replying flatly, after the fourth or fifth round of the same dispute. All she needed was confirmation that I wanted her, loved her, adored her... But that was my sad excuse for consolation.

"No, it's what I feel you want." She would rebut - and if only I'd listened to what her heart was saying, rather than what words she spoke, I would have known to just. be. kind. I would have known to soothe her anxious mind, and pounding heart. I would have let her cry, and let her ache, while holding her against me tightly and telling her she's wrong. Instead, I always dismissed her with a cold remark.

"Whatever, babe."

She threw her hands up against her face now, sobbing more loudly than before. What was her heart saying in this moment? I tried to hear it, but I couldn't tell... Only my own regrets filled my thoughts. I had broken her. I had hurt her. So many times I let myself say the things that I told her - and promised her - I never would. I committed every act I swore was tell-tale that I don't care. She was aching - in her bones, her heart, and her soul. Body, mind, and spirit all encompassed by our midnight arguments that came out of nowhere and lead back to it. I had done this to her so many times, and only asked for forgiveness with a few long embraces or flowers the next day. I had even called her the names she confided that her ex had often called her - just knowing that it hurt her deeper than she could ever harm me. Perhaps to get her to just stop fighting, so that we could move forward... and maybe because a part of me was aching, too, knowing that she felt alone. I'd created this neediness, I'd created this crazy. I had made her insecure and allowed myself to be portrayed as an uncaring, dis-involved, liar.

I was frozen, now, as she stood before me somehow carrying all of those over-packed bags and asked me if I loved her.

I knew that I had to lie.

Managing to hold in every tear that pushed against my eyelids, I stonily whispered my response and watched her deflate like an old balloon. I had never seen her brown eyes frown - I didn't know that they were capable of holding such sadness. And I didn't know that I was capable of causing it. I felt an urge within me, one like the first time I knew that I loved her. One that bubbled and boiled deep within the pit of my stomach, and trickled in my chest, or sparked like a firecracker about to explode - it was the urge to say 'I love you'. She waited for some minutes before finally looking away, lowering her head. I knew what she was doing - I had seen that look a thousand times before but could only now analyze it's meaning...

She was looking at me like it was the last time - and, this time, it truly was. I let her face burn in to my mind, and then I watched her walk away. That was the woman I loved and pushed away, until I couldn't allow myself to do it any longer. Somehow, I knew that the day would come when I could no longer remember her face... only her sad brown eyes, and the rear-side of her small, gentle frame as she forced herself to keep taking steps.

I remembered, at this moment, every time that she had ever asked me, "Why do you love me?". I would always reply with "I don't know", "I just do", or say that it was "because of everything about you". I could never find a true reason and put it to words, though I knew that many existed. Now, I was struggling to stop reciting every last one of them in my mind.

I had loved her for so long that I had began to take her for granted. I had taken her for granted for so long that I had become bitter. And I had been bitter towards her for so long that I was oblivious to it all.

And now...

It was too late.