The death of a dream

It hurts letting go of something that once held so much promise. Losing your best friend, your boyfriend, and the man you thought you had a future with all at once is so damn hard.

But this is old news. It’s already been nine months. I should have been able to move on by now, right? He shouldn’t be slipping into my thoughts on a still daily basis. There are so many things I do everyday that still remind me of him. It’s not fair.

I loved him. I really did. I also fought against being with him. I’m not entirely sure why. In part, I think I was afraid of it turning into something real and solid and important. But it had been real and solid and important, until it wasn’t. Another part, I think, felt rushed by him and, sue me, I’m a little resistant to change when it’s not my idea. He knew what he wanted and being with me wasn’t important enough to give me time to catch up. I wasn’t worth the risk. His goals were more important. To hell with wasting any more time on me because I wasn’t quite ready for him and marriage and kids. Then he left and didn’t turn back. No room for compromise. No room for growth and discovery. No reason good enough to meet me in the middle.

Truthfully, I can’t work with that, but I want a family. I know I never said that to him and I couldn’t because I didn’t know it yet. But I want a family. And I want it with someone who isn’t afraid to love me outrageously. Who knows I’m the only one for him. Who knows I’m worth waiting for and fighting for. Who doesn’t make me feel less important than everything else he wants in life. I want to love someone with my whole heart for my whole life. I don’t want to be a victim of my own cowardice, or someone else’s.

It’s not something I need or necessarily want right this instant, but it’s something I want. The dream of having it with him is slowly dying.

Giving myself to him in a field of wildflowers, getting married in the clearing behind his parents house, creating our own home, exploring new places, shoe shopping, driving to no where, starting a family, cooking meals, sharing a life with him, the exciting and the mundane, the best and the worst…it’s time to let all of that go, isn’t it? Because me dreaming about it isn’t going to make him love me enough to make it happen and I won’t settle for less than all, for less than equal partners. I used to think we’d get there. We had a lot of the right pieces fit together. But I’m getting used to disappointment.

For now, I’m finding my own way and right now, that’s enough.

And one day, hopefully some day soon, I won’t feel compelled to write about it anymore. I guess that’s how I’ll know I’ve moved on.

 

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