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Essay11.docx
Prince 3
For one of them, it was a normal day.
They’d seen each other a month ago. After months apart, their reunion was hard fought and well deserved. There was love and happiness, and there were tears at their parting. For them--for her--the brief time together was too short.
The two were not used to being apart. But after years of being physically paired, he had found a new home. He did so reluctantly. He was not sorry to leave the pretentious coastal town that he felt trapped in. Surrounded by a palm-lined, stucco suburbia and a proud Homeowners’ Association, he knew that he would not be at home in that city. It was a select group of people that held him to that place. Of that group, she was one. But the mountain town he had found himself in drew him in, and he knew he would not be leaving. She did too.
Over the course of the months apart, anxiety began to well up inside her. Everyday, unceasing, she thought of seeing him again, and the thought became one of stress, a burden. She loved him, as surely as she knew what love is, but she felt trapped. She could be so happy in his presence, but the idea of him leaving and staying away haunted her. The idea of being apart revolted her, but they were, in reality, apart. And the miles between them came crashing down on her neck.
He, meanwhile, was occupied. He was occupied by her and the escapades of his new life, which seemed to interest him far more than her life interested her. The miles had worn on him. They had their moments of trying to choke him to death, but he had shaken them off. He thought of her constantly, and he often wrestled with the distance. But he was not trapped. He felt free. It was a freedom in the form of continuity and normalcy. To think of any other reality that did not involve her made him feel ill. It was simply not possible to comprehend. She remained there for him, only not physically there. He loved her, he is sure.
But it was only a normal day for one of them.
The other had butterflies in their stomach. They were not the butterflies of excitement. They were butterflies of lead, poisoning everything they touched.
They sat down in the same place they did every Saturday. It was their day. Every week they would see each other through the pixels of their computers, and though it was hardly anything, it was something for the both of them to keep their sanity. Only for her it also carried another reminder of the anxiety. It had finally showed this Saturday.
“And how are you tonight, Love?”
“I’m ok…I’m just kind of nervous”
He quickly fell out of the contented state that took him through life. He felt physical dread come over him. His legs went weak along with hers. After over two years and a long conversation it had finally come down to a question:
“Are we breaking up?”
After a long silence it was met with an “I think so” and instantly a connection that had receded into abstraction became once again physical and shattered on the floor.
They knew it was not for lack of love that their separate ways had begun. They loved each other, and the words “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” were not privy to that fact. It was because he loved her that he could not keep her. The same unconditional love they had so effectively taught each other over the years remained. No amount of conflict over the years had taken that from them, and they knew that no particular order of words would do so, either.
It was heartbreak, but unmarred by regret or anger. It was heartbreak while both of them still had a heart to break.
