I’m back here again – one year later, in the exact same place as I was before. This time was going to be different. This time, there would be changes made on both ends. This time, we would make more of an effort. This time, we would succeed in doing what we’d failed to do before . Well, this time is the same as last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. History may not repeat itself, but he and I certainly do. Again – and again – and again. Bugger.
At least last time there was an absolute ending. It was O-V-E-R. No going back — we’d never speak to nor see the other again. A month later, my phone rings. A week later, it rings again. The calls increase in frequency, and by the second month he is calling every day, twice a day. By the third, he’s flirting. By the fourth, he is calling me late into the night, telling me he loves me, and that he misses me.
By the fifth month, he discovers that I’m dating someone else. By the sixth, he asks to see me. Two semi-platonic outings later, we begin dating – and it’s good. Things are different – he’s changed and so have I. We go about it tentatively, carefully. The first few months, there are no “State of the Union” discussions. We are undefined, but there is promise of something more. And, eventually, after months of seeing what happens, we are coupled. Again.
Three weeks ago – 6 months into our “reconciliation,” he tells me that he loves me. And I am happy. History should tell me that this is where it all goes awry; this is where his retreat begins. And so it does. With the hot comes the cold. One step forward = two steps back.
And here we are, back again in the same place, where nothing has changed between us. There’s no admission of an end, no cessation of phone calls. But there is a palpable shift. There is neglect. There is disinterest. He views our field as brown and patchy, and has hope of greener pastures. So be it.
I’ve been here before, and I know the direction in which it is heading. It’s actually already there but, unlike last time, I won’t fight it, nor follow it through to the inevitable, bitter end. I’ve learned from the past that, in this relationship, there is no such thing as closure.
I’m checking out a new lawn tonight. It’s okay if it isn’t verdant and lush. I don’t care. I’m stepping out of my own for a spell, because I need the reminder that my yard isn’t the only one on the block, and neither is his. It doesn’t matter if the grass isn’t greener, as long as it’s an entirely new, different shade of green.