2006-01-14 - 12:16 p.m. What it is is that you become accustomed to her. You begin to think about the next day with her, then the next month with her, then the next year with her. And then there it is. You see yourself with her. You begin making plans, arranging your life around her, rearranging yours, looking for the right thing to make both of you happy. You reach a point where it's just natural. Where, there it is. You and here, with no reason to ever think that you won't have to think about her. And then there comes that day. Where she says sorry, but I'm not in love anymore. Where you pack your things up, put everything you own in the back of your car, and leave. And you think about today. You think about the day after, the month, the year. And it's empty, because it's just back to thinking about you. There's no one else to take into consideration. No one else to ask what should be made for dinner. No one else to figure out who will being doing what chores, errands, little things, today. No one to give up anything for. No one to get anything from. It is there, and then it isn't. You hold onto her, one moment, tight as you can and think "family." Then there is nothing. A space in the bed where she used to be, but now is piled up with books to distract me, books and empty juice boxes and pillows and a phone and a tossed pair of glasses. It is empty. There were bad times. Arguments and words that should have never been said. Threats and yells and tears. Leaving for periods of time, coming back. Lies. But you worked through that because you had the idea of tomorrow somewhere inside of you. You tried to do the right thing, you tried to be the best you had in you. Sometimes you even prayed to God. Sometimes you went to bed talking to God, asking to be shown that Jesus was divine, because you knew how much your emptiness hurt her. You pushed forward because you just knew tomorrow would come. You pushed forward because you saw tomorrow and a year from now. You saw the moves and the changes and the disagreement on whether to live in a subdivision or the suburbs. But then she turns and looks at you and says, "I'm sorry." She says, "no more." And it would be easier, maybe, if you could put this into terms of the physicists. If you could show that this moment, those words, were the escape velocity, maybe you could find another formula. But there is nothing and there will be nothing and you just escape and today is different than what you had ever imagined. Today is different and tomorrow will be different and there is nothing you can do about it. It is funny and scary and frightening on how fast a life can change. No big event is needed. Just words. And the path changes. What you expected, relied on, is not there anymore. previous - next