last night, last kiss

'Cuz I can't make you love me
If you don't.
You can't make your heart feel
Something it won't.

May 17, 2011

In my heart I knew it was going to be our last kiss when we had it. We were outside, walking the dog, saying our goodbyes. As usual the porch light was illuminating us, and the dog was wrapped around our ankles a million times. You were going to talk to our pastor the next day. Things hadn't been right between us, so I encouraged you to talk to him. You had become so distant and inconsistent. It made me feel insecure all of the time. One day you even shut your phone off and I couldn't get a hold of you. I was so frustrated with what felt like my one sided attempt to hold onto you. I could feel you slipping away from me more and more every day. Once we tried to talk about everything in your car, I made some really good points and asked you some tough questions that you couldn't, or wouldn't answer. You told me about all the pressure you felt to take care of your family, to buy them a house before you got married. You thought that it couldn't happen for at least ten years. I was so confused as to why you hadn't told me this sooner. Ten years was a long time to wait to marry you, and I was discouraged with the thought of waiting that long, but in my heart I knew I would do it if you really loved me.

That's the thing about me, I'm always too quick to settle for something that I know isn't right, but there was something inside me that I knew about you that seemed to dictate everything. It seemed like your heart and mouth wouldn't let you say or do the things you wanted to. You always seemed  to be fighting this internal battle between what you wanted for yourself, and the duty you felt to your country and family. I think I got in the way of that, maybe it confused you, like you thought you couldn't have both. You weren't sure of your priorities anymore. Sometimes you forgot to hide how much you felt for me. That night you were sitting in my kitchen, I walked by and you grabbed me and pulled me into your lap. You buried your face and my hair and said you missed me over and over. I wanted to be so angry at you, all I was ever trying to do was see you and be with you. I missed you, me! I was the one that was always waiting to get a call or text indicating that you wanted to see or talk to me. How dare you tell me you missed me. I wanted to be so angry, but I actually believed that you missed me. It killed me that we were both feeling the exact same things but couldn't communicate effectively to each other how or why there was such a big discrepancy in our understanding of one another.

Right after work I drove straight to your soccer practice and sat in my car. I could barely see you over the hill and it was raining, so I didn't get out of my car. I hoped you could tell I was there and sense how much I wanted to be with you. Earlier that day you told me not to bother coming, that it was just a scrimmage, but I insisted. You said you would come over and hang out with me later. That night was so weird, I wanted everything to feel normal again, I started to understand what it felt like to try and hold onto someone using every means possible, even if it meant my body. I remember hearing stories about girls who thought that sleeping with their boyfriends would make them stay. I started to understand that mentality, that desperation that comes with losing someone or something. I was physically touching you every second that night, I was so insecure, whether it was holding onto your arm or rubbing your shoulder. I was so scared of losing you that, I was literally holding onto you. I remember sitting on the couch, somehow we started taking pictures. You wanted one of us kissing, I thought it was tacky and immature, but I humored you. I'm so thankful I have that picture now, if we didn't take it, I never would've believed that you actually kissed me. That we had been that close physically and emotionally, well at least I had been. I guess it doesn't even matter now. In the end it just doesn't matter who did what, or why, just that it ended, that neither of us are the same, that we're both still broken, but now were separately broken. Maybe that's better, maybe it's worse. It is what it is. I'm still trying to figure it all out, where to draw the line between what is and what was, what can be, and what will never be. I can't let the past dictate what my future holds, but at the same time I can't kill that hope inside of me, the one that says that you can change, the one that says one day you'll wake up and realize that you can't live without me. I'm a fool for you. I know it. I'm not sure what's worse, realizing and acknowledging it, or being in denial and maintaining a shred of dignity.