Sisyphean Love

It’s funny, how this feels like all the other break ups we’ve had when we both know it isn’t. Like all the others, this began with an uncharacteristic display of emotions, as if a dam has broken and we couldn’t help but say the things we only kept hidden in the deepest recesses of our mind. Yes, we both felt it was the other’s fault. Like before, we couldn’t help bringing up the dirt of the past, couldn’t help tearing up old wounds, as if the errors we made, laid on the table like cards,  could somehow justify the pain we both feel.

What you didn’t know, when I turned away, was that I promised myself that this would be the last time. The last break up. The end. The same step I always took whenever I walked away from you after a fight will never be repeated again. When I said goodbye, I meant it, and the word, if before they floated between us like a question, I’ve made a wall, solid and impenetrable.  Before, I was always lured back by the silent anguish in your eyes, reflected in mine whenever I look in the mirror. Now, the memory is faint. And I wonder if I ever saw the same pain in yours.

 There will be many nights that I’ll wake up with a start, and grope for your hand. In the darkness, I won’t find it, and I’d wonder why you left the bed. Then I’ll remember that we’re over and the memories will choke me, and I’ll find it hard to breathe. But these nights will be few, less frequent over time.  Mornings will come when I’ll sleepily wait for your kiss, and wonder what’s taking it so long to reach my lips. Then I’ll remember that we’re over, the memories will choke me, and I’ll bury my head among the sheets, willing the memories away.

 But one day, I won’t wake up with the ghosts of you. Only then will I know if I have ever been, or someday will be happy.