So, I had an incident happen recently with an ex-boyfriend of mine. We are not on speaking terms per say when we are sober, but for some reason, all is forgotten when one of us has had a few too many drinks. Whether I am the initiator of that first text or he happens to send me one because he’s four shots in and notices me walking by him at the club, I can’t help but think, when is it time to let go?
The drunken texts usually consist of “what are you up to?,” which I roll my eyes at every time and absently scout out my surroundings waiting to see his cocky self. Charm forgotten, manners out the window, the guy that I thought I once knew was nowhere to be found. One of us would typically approach the other and make the first move, requesting a quick meaningless dance between two people who used to know each other. I would always accept, knowing full well that for the protection of my still healing heart, I should probably have turned him down.
Even in the way we danced, even in the way he looked at me…I could tell it was different. Breakups are never easy…and they’re even more difficult when situations like this arise. I always thought that getting over him would be easier if I never talked to him, never bumped into him. And it was…until moments like this, when my true will power was put to the test. I would act like I had moved on, like his smirks and not so subtle touches on my arm and on my back didn’t bother me in the slightest. I was intentionally rude to him. I was callous. But every girl has her breaking point.
As we were dancing, I glanced at the mirror facing directly on the opposite wall and paused. I was reminded of what was, of what could have been…and then, was ushered back into reality when a friend of mine casually pushed through the crowd and raised an eyebrow at me as she glared at my ex dancing behind me. I know…I thought to myself. I had given into a weak moment. But can you blame a girl for wanting to be wanted by the guy who used to want her back?
One thing led to another and he ended up back at my dorm. We awkwardly sat in my lobby and occasionally gave each other sideways glances, knowing full well that the memories were flooding back for him just as much as they were for me. We talked about his family and his friends. He seemed unhappy; far from what I expected from this overly confident douche bag. But, a part of me couldn’t help but feel compassion for him despite everything. I could relate to him and let’s face it, I still cared.
He ended up staying over in my room, even though he had class in less than 6 hours. For the first time in what seemed like three months, we talked, laying on my bed like old times. And that’s when reality set in. Even though we were thrown back into the same surroundings and same situations that our flawless romance began in, something seemed off. The words felt empty, the memories irrelevant and distant. I began to realize that time had changed us. Life had changed us. We were not the same people that we had been three months prior. He was speaking of transferring to a different school; of leaving behind the snow and the mountains for a beach and sunny weather 18 hours away. I laid there and felt myself die a little on the inside. This was it.
Even moments later, as the talking ceased and the awkwardness of his hand occasionally brushing my leg and my arm faded, I opened my eyes to stare at the wall directly in front of me. In the pitch black of the room, I flashed back to the time when things were good, when we were happy. But now, staring at this same wall as both our backs were turned to each other in my tiny, twin-sized bed, I realized that we could never go back to that place. Through everything, the spark was gone. Neither one of us would back down and actually utter what the other truly wanted to say. We were quiet, we were distant and we were only a couple inches away from each other.
So, I ask the question again…when do you let go? When do you say enough is enough? I will always want more even though I tried desperately to prove to him that night that I could manage being his friend. However, I knew I was only uttering lies. I didn’t want to be his friend. I missed what was and I found myself repeating over and over again in my head, how did we get here?
I will never know what prompted him to drop me like a hot potato and take up singledom with open arms. But, I do know that things end up the way they were meant to, and I was lucky to get out when I did. I want someone who wants me for me minus the mind games. I want someone who talks to me both during the day and at night; someone who’s not afraid to share how they really feel and won’t run away when Sh**t (excuse my language) gets real. My ex was none of these things and even as he gathered his things to leave at 7:15 the following morning, I expressed just that to him. I turned over in bed, flashed him a smile and wished him well. No, mind games, no gimmics…and as he slipped through the doorway closing the door behind him, I thought to myself: Yes, one door may have closed, but another one…a better one…is just opening.