We were together for 3 years. She was pretty, smart and loved me deeply. I loved her too. My friends and family, they liked her. Everyone assumed we would get married. We got through the death of her father but 2 months after her mother wanted us to get married. I got cold feet. I felt compelled. This wasn’t the romantic marriage I envisioned. The pressure got to me and I broke up with her. She was devastated. My heart still hurts now, 8 months on, when I imagine how she must have felt. I wished I had spoken to her about how I felt instead of making the rash decision. I can’t forgive myself.
It’s been nearly two months since I got dumped.
And while I probably should be writing about him, I’m writing about you.
I’m trying to forget about him–and you’ve helped greatly–but in the process we’ve filled each other with our lives and… I can’t figure out where I stand on this.
We’ve always been able to talk–part of me attributes that to all of you more or less being the same. And perhaps you’re right, perhaps you really are the most like him.
But there are things about you–things I never knew and never discovered until I became single–or did I really become single again?
Do I really know how to be single? You were there for me since that very night. You were the first person to call me after my sister, and you were at my doorstep (with the others) half an hour later.
Since that night we never stopped talking. We tried, we did. But something neither of us can identify to this day keeps pulling us back to each other like the strongest opposing magnetic poles.
And to put all the horrible clichés together, this feels so right. It does. But I cannot help but think how wrong it is all at the same time.
How did this happen?? We’re both good people. We don’t smoke, we don’t party (much, heh), we don’t drink (excessively), we don’t sleep around. And we were in the two longest relationships either of us had known among all our friends.
What happened?? How did this happen?? How did WE happen? Why am I referring to us as “we”, or as “us”?
Why did she talk to me? Why did I feel so obligated to try so hard to help her, and you? Why did I feel so invested in making your relationship work, when I have always believed that every relationship is different, and works differently?
I wrote a long letter of apology I fully planned to send to her–and after hearing what you said, I don’t know if I should say anything at all.
And you (not you) told me not to make promises I can’t keep. That’s true too. And like you (yes you) said, what’s the point of apologising if I can’t make amends? What amends can I make? To stay away from you?
We tried, and we failed. Too many times. For some ridiculous reason, we can’t stay away from each other.
How do people who do what we did live with themselves, and move on?
Why am I talking like you cheated on her with me?
Is it worse to cheat on your other half physically, or emotionally? Is cheating emotionally not cheating? Did you cheat on her emotionally with me?
Why do I feel like I cannot tell her that nothing ever happened between us (which is true) because it is so clear something IS happening between us?
My moral compass stands firmly alongside my friends, I suppose. All of them–even my sister–have told me the right thing to do.
The right thing to do, say half a month ago, was to get out of this scary, twisted web we were weaving ourselves into willingly quick as I could–to cut my losses, and to prevent yours.
To stop ourselves from falling for each other.
And I tried, I really think I did. You didn’t want me to though–you were sure that you knew who your girlfriend was, and that you had committed yourself to her, but didn’t want to lose my friendship. And I understood–I think I was one of the first people you felt like you really could be yourself with, honest and comfortable, and able to share anything and everything with–including your eventual realisation that you had fallen for me.
But now it’s too late–you’re single too. And you now admit that I absolutely had something to do with it.
And we’re making plans, despite the crazy odds stacked against us you’re willing to do the craziest thing of all–to try to work things out with me, for me.
I want so much for us to work too, and I’m so afraid we may not in the end, but yet I don’t want to abandon this without just seeing, putting in the effort, trying.
You’ve told me you’re sure that I’m worth it–and I want to believe we are worth it.
But my moral compass tells me I am wrong. I was wrong for doing this, I was wrong for letting myself get so close to you.
Yet, I don’t know what to do about it, and I don’t want to change anything about us now. We’re in a comfortable limbo, feeling the same tension so familiar to me when falling for my ex in JC.
I just wish we didn’t get close in this way. I just wish I had stepped aside when I was supposed to, and let you eventually move to a break-up with her if that really was the direction your relationship was headed. I should in no way have helped accelerate the process, even if you’re glad I did. And I’m not even all that sure you are.