We’re sitting up at the bar at Boulder Beer talking to a group of guys sitting across from us. About Vermont. About maple syrup. About where we’re from. #OriginStories
I point to J and say – “He’s from Barre, Vermont”
He surprises me by answering, “And she’s from New Braunfels, Texas”.
A fact that isn’t quite accurate. I grew up in New Braunfels. I was born some place else.
But I’m touched that he remembers. Even more touched when he asks if I still have the heart rock he made for me? I don’t. I wish I did.
The sad truth is, no matter how much we wish we could go back to the way things used to be. We can’t. Like the first time you return to your childhood home after going away to college. There you are in your old room which suddenly feels so small. Everything is exactly the same, and yet it isn’t.
I look in his eyes and let myself slip back into that place where it’s only the two of us. The world around us disappears. For that brief moment in time, I let myself remember what it’s like to love him.
There won’t be a happy ending for us. It’s too difficult. Not because of our past, but because the likelihood of a person changing when they don’t want to change is…well…impossible. I tell him it was never a lack of love or chemistry that broke us.
Hours later, we stand on the rooftop of his apartment building – looking out at the blood moon. I let him kiss me. I let myself fall into the scent of him, the memory of us. I want so much to go back. To agree with him when he says he believes we belong together – that we’re good for one another.
That’s the danger of love. It takes us places we never expected to go again.
He seems wiser to me now than before. He’s grown. Evolved in so many ways. He makes me feel stuck in comparison. Comparison is the thief of joy.
I wish with time we could find that balance. We could find our way back to one another. But even now, after all this time, we still enable each other’s bad habits…we still sacrifice our authentic selves to the illusion of love. My heart is heavy with knowing.
Days later, a conversation over text solidifies for me the danger inherent in wanting things to be different than how they are.
When a person tells you who they are – as much as you don’t want to – I think it’s important to believe them. I think it’s important to remember love can take you a lot of amazing places. But in the end, love is not enough.