I fell again. It was a accident. A genuine, honest mistake, but I couldn’t help it.

You were just so right there and what was I supposed to do about that? Close my eyes,  count to ten, do a rain dance, hope you’d disappear? Honestly though, if I had done those things, I would have seemed less insane to some people. The distance alone would have and should have been a deterrent. But like I said, couldn’t help it.

Your blonde hair skimmed your forehead in just such a way that made me need to reach out and brush it away. Your icy blue eyes shone warmth through the cold and you were just so excited. About everything. About life.

The passion was there, so evident, like a vine reaching up the side of the house. Reaching to the sky like it could just keep going, face open to the sun, absorbing the warmth and radiance. How could I not be drawn to that?

Not to mention that accent. Oh boy. Though don’t mistake an accent as the reason I fell for you. It certainly didn’t hurt though.

I had fun. Soccer games, spontaneous hikes up hills on the pathless side. Genderbent Hamlet and Guiness for the first time.

But then the inevitable separation. We knew it going in, but we wanted to try anyway. Maybe we shouldn’t have bothered, but I guess neither of us could help it? I always felt like I cared more than you though. Like I was more interested in what we were doing than you were.

It was nice having someone to talk to, I suppose. But my heart felt like it had strings attached that stretched across the miles and it hurt when you pulled on them without really thinking about what you were doing. I missed you but the distance to your heart spanned more than just the physical distance.

You held me at arm’s length, and I was so scared that if I stepped a little closer, our fragile situation would crumble, and I would be the one left to pick up the pieces. I suspect you cared, but I’m not sure how much. I sat at the other end of the skype call, wondering how long I would have to wait for you to actually open up to me. When would you stop hiding behind sentiment?

Breaking up is hard. Even if it’s mutual. Although that’s easier than most. Less blood is spilled. Fewer hearts and minds reduced to trembling emptiness.

The problem with mutual breakups is that they are amicable. There are no shouting matches (hopefully) or barrages of tears (at least not for us). Amicable might seem to be the ideal. Which I guess it is. But it’s still hard. Because no matter what, you aren’t still friends. You really can’t be. Even if you never did anything but hold hands and Skype once or twice a week.

Because how can you be friends with someone that you thought about marrying? You can’t. The attraction was there, we both felt it. And that doesn’t just go away when you have a friendly, mutual breakup. Seeing you after, even months later. Talking to you. Reminded me of what was and why.

Then we found others, and that makes it even more impossible. Because you can’t be friends with someone you used to see when you are married or engaged, now can you?

It’s all right, because we’re happy, but I miss our friendship. It’s never coming back. We can talk casually once every six months over email, but that’s it. And it’s tough when we used to talk every week. We had fun, enjoyed each other’s company.

So really, what I miss is my friend. I’ve lost so many and I don’t like how they just keep going, but I have a new best friend, who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with and I couldn’t be happier.

That’s really the worst part about breakups though. Not the loss of a lover or a significant other. The loss of a friend, someone you had a million things in common with and could talk to for hours.

It really only makes up for it when you find your real best friend for the rest of your life.




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