Break Up Letter Dear I\'m

Break Up Letter

Dear

I'm not sure how things got this bad. After spending so much time together with hardly a fight, but instead with laughter and trust through most of our days, it seems like the last few rough months shouldn't be enough to throw the whole thing away. We really had something special, and two years is a lot of time to simply turn our backs on. I know you can get on alright without me, and I haven't just been a puddle on the floor since you left, either, but I can't help wondering if there might be something we can do to fix this, and to move ahead together.

Do you remember coming home late after closing up the bar, and cooking each other meals we remembered our mothers cooking for us growing up? So came out delicious, others were hilarious failures, but they were always ours, and special because they were a sign of the love we had between us, and what we were willing to offer and share with each other. Now I look at the silent kitchen, and I can't help but wonder if all of those meals were just empty, and not actually imbued with the meaning that I though they contained. I don't think that that's possible -- that we were fooling ourselves the entire time we were together that we enjoyed each other's company, each other's food, and simply each other for two full years -- but the thought hits me now and again anyway. There really is no way to fake the level of comfort that we had with each other, sharing our lives, our apartment, our jobs, our meals, and even our dog, and ultimately isn't that really what love is? Feeling the same comfort with someone else that we each feel when we're alone, and knowing that we're accepted?

Someone else might have thought the candlelit room with rose petals scattered on the floor was hopelessly cliche, but for you and I it held all the love and romance as if we were the first people ever to discover the passion of the flickering light and the aroma of those sacrificed blossoms. The bike rides at sunset made me feel like we were the only two people in the world, and that nothing and no one else was needed as long as you were pedaling beside me. Now that you're not there, the pedals and the petals both seem empty, arranging themselves in meaningless and monotonous circles of pure bewilderment. During our time together, you were the reason I felt alive, and now that you're no longer here I feel as though I am simply going through the motions, fulfilling all necessary functions but without any real motivation or desire. You were a blessing I will always be grateful for, and one I wish I knew how to reclaim and make a part of my journey through life again.

We didn't just have "our song," we had whole genres of music. There are some albums on my shelf that I can't really play anymore without growing despondent just thinking of you. There was never any boredom that crept into our many hurts together, but instead there was always laughter and excitement, not to mention passion. Even though we were together at work at the bar and together at home, we never seemed to get tired of each other or even really need a break from each other -- in fact, we took our breaks together, too, and our vacations -- remember our first Christmas at your parents house? Or the next year at mine? Even our families, crazy though they are, didn't cause even a momentary hesitation on our parts that we were meant to be together.

Thinking of our families also reminds me of the way we were able to support each other through some of the hardest periods of both of our lives. Seen in this light, it is impossible for me to understand how the person that helped me through the death of my mother -- an event that made life and love seem almost worthless -- could now so suddenly and so completely never again be a part of my everyday joys and sorrows. I feel like we watched each other bleed and helped to dress each others' wounds, you nursing me back to spiritual and emotional health after my mother's passing and me doing the same for you during the period of your grandfather's illness, but now -- for whatever reason -- the impulse to share each others' pain as a way of helping the other to cope has passed, as if it was only a job we were obligated to perform.