I will always love you.
It started, essentially, when we were babies. And it's ending with a baby. (This may be the most honest thing I've ever written, so bear with me).
There's always that one person. Not even necessarily the one that got away. In my case, he never got away. In my case, he's still a part of my daily life. The person you grew up with. The person all your first life experiences were with. The person that taught you how to ride a bike and throw a football and to cook with lemon pepper and mostly, to love. The person that gave you your first kiss. The first person you go to for everything. The person you moved for. The person who makes you the happiest and angriest all at the same time. The person that you do things for and with, the person you've based your whole concept of love and self worth on. The only person you've ever truly loved, now that you think about it. It's rare that all of those things are from the same person, but mine were. Everything I've done in life has been because he has pushed me to do so. Or inspired me to do so. Or messed me up so badly, that I wanted to prove something to. Almost every memory I have involves him. It's not even that he's someone I want to be with right now. But in some twisted imaginary universe that I apparently live in, I guess I imagined it would still always be us in the end. We would fall in love with other people, move across the country, do things with our lives, but eventually, we were end game. Through all the other heartaches, it was comforting to know there was always him. He was my home.
Everyone has that someone that makes time stop in it's tracks and transports you somewhere you haven't been in ages. A friend recently was telling me how a run-in with an ex rendered him unable to function. How memories came flooding back from a more innocent time. A time that taught you so much about pure, real love. The thought and feeling becomes all-consuming. You think you're completely over somebody that you haven't seen in years. Then you realize you're not. You realize that if you're holding out for something or waiting for an answer to change, you're not over it. You never were. Enough time had just passed, and you had other heartbreaks to deal with, that it became more of a nostalgic, distant memory. So you go through the motions of life, still expecting the same outcome, because the in between doesn't matter when you already know the ending for your story, right? But then all of a sudden, you realize that that thing isn't going to happen and you don't know your ending anymore and it changes everything.
The truth is, I always thought it was going to be me. If that makes me stupid or selfish, so be it. But you were my ending. She is supposed to be me. It is supposed to be mine. I guess that's the problem with us planners, huh? Timing is everything and one little phone call in the middle of a Tuesday can change the whole course of your life. I suppose the beauty of things must be that they end. (Most of the time in tears). Somehow things are expected to be the same, but in May, there will be a new little life in this world. With your bright blue eyes, and your drive and excitement about the world around you. With your charm, and hopefully your intelligence. Hopefully not your temper, or stubbornness or sense of humor. But how did we get here--so far away? Now I'm going to be looking at pictures and buying things for something that should be mine. It's my own fault, I suppose. I got burned and learned that I loved you more than I should have. I still do. Always will, unfortunately.
What took you so long to tell me? How could you not think about your actions? You said you knew how much this would kill me. You are now stuck with somebody just out of principle. There will never be an us again. When I got your call today, and knew how scared you were to tell me, I realized something. Not saying something doesn't make it any less true. And also, saying something doesn't necessarily make it more true. But telling me you wished it were me and that I was the one that got away was like kicking me when I was down.
I know that no matter what, that little boy is going to have a wonderful life, filled with people that love him. I know that that is a huge part of why I loved you for the past ten years. You're going to be a great father. When I hung up the phone and it fell out of my hands, I went to a bar. Alone. The man gave me the drink for free. He said I needed a bitter beer because life is bitter. He's right. It's bittersweet. I proceeded to look at the ultrasound pictures you sent. I talked to your mother and grandfather on the phone. I saw a man wearing a rugby shirt, a bus drove by with a baby's face on it, and our song was on the radio; how's that for irony? It would've been our ten year anniversary today. You said it's all about timing, right? You have been through the ringer the past few years. You've brought me through it with you. Although it breaks my heart, and although I know it's not what you expected, I guess we can learn that, to quote you and The Rolling Stones, you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might just find, you get what you need. I truly hope this is what you need.
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