Is this the right room?

Hi, my name is Marco and I’m dealing with a break up.

You’ve listened to the song before. Two lovers caught within their embraces, a love story so strong and so fulfilling that it can’t go wrong. And then it does. And ours did. No crime against humanity, no long standing alternate affairs, no betrayal. Just a simple lack of communication and a blow up fight. And the world kept spinning on its access, rivers continued to flow, stocks continued to be sold, Miley Cyrus continued to twerk, I kept going to work, she kept going to school.

A months worth of silence goes by — no communication, no seeing each other (except for some unfortunate circumstance), nothing. Awkward conversations are had between mutual friends and to mutual friends. The airs of tension. “How could he, did she mean nothing to him? How did he just get up and walk away?” And you know what, I did. But you know what you don’t realize? That when someone walks away from you, you can’t see their face as they walk. There was no smile on me. My pride moved my legs, my heart closed its windows and put the sign out “out of business”. Then, the circumstance.

A phone call. 3 to be exact, that I had awaken too Saturday morning. I knew this to be a cause for concern, so I proceed to call back. In a moment of panic and a moment of danger, she called me. My heart lit up, and I was there to be as much of a rescue as I could be. I picked her up from where she stayed the night, disheveled and shaken. “Never apologize for calling me. Never hesitate to call me if you find yourself in a situation like that again”. I can still remember those words. I can still remember them. I drove her home, I ended up in her home. I ended up in her bed. Here we are.

Our second attempt was a walk on egg shells on both behalves — a rough, tough introspective look into what we previously went through. I could hear the pain in her voice. I could see it in her face. I hurt her. I took a bat to her head. I took a crane to her home. I broke her down as a person. I left her hanging. Communication, communication, communication. It should’ve been A fight, not THE fight. And that set the tone for part II. Hard feelings, hard memories, hard efforts.

I was a man on a mission — I had a woman I needed to reconquer. I had a heart I needed to mend, I had someone that I needed to show what they meant to me. But where was my wild card? What weight did I carry on my shoulders, that I still carry that she might never know? That I knew. I knew there were texts going out from her, I know there were posts by her, I know there were texts going to her from other guys. There’s was never any hesitation in the clarifying that she was out there, she was available. I wasn’t let on, but I proceeded with it anyway. Determined. The biggest pill I had to swallow, and I did. I’ll show you. I’ll earn it back. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. Fuck who’s pursuing me, my eyes on the prize. It’s you.

But maybe it was never there to earn back. I fought. I made the calls, I was there whenever I could. The emails, the dinners, the gifts, the nights together, the phone calls. But did I do this because I needed too, did I do this because I wanted too, did I do this because I needed to repent for my sins, did I do this because I knew it was what she wanted? Yes to it all. But a lesson I’ve learned now, a lesson I learned that I wish I could teach and show that I understand: just because someone knows you aren’t fooling around with someone else, it doesn’t mean that they do trust you. Just like you go through in school; just because the teacher solves the equation on the blackboard doesn’t mean you get the answer. This is how it was for me. When I thought I had all the pieces to the equation locked in, it still wouldn’t click. And I didn’t know why. It’s because she couldn’t trust me to not hurt her again.

And so it went on for a little bit longer. Time was spent together, photos were taken together, and then, suddenly. It felt like it ended. We sat, we spoke. I was told that she wasn’t and couldn’t fully commit back to me, and wanted to see what other opportunities there may be out there. I told her I wasn’t happy. I told her I didn’t want to pursue anyone else. She never felt as if I approached her with the same passion and enthusiasm as I did my passions. She was pigeon holed into a schedule, part of a routine of mine. She was a convenience, something I had to take care of. I didn’t fight for her. I didn’t earn it back. I thought I was fighting the whole time. Maybe I was? Maybe I did, maybe I wasn’t forthcoming in knowing what I did, in reading what I did, to make her realize how much I was doing and the effort I was still putting forth in light of knowing what I did?

This journey has sent me down roads and put me through ringers I’ve never experienced before. I don’t know if I’ll look back at this in year and just classify it as “experience”. I don’t know if a year from now, I’ll look back at this and giggle and express “fucking kid”. But for where I sit, right now, I can say with confidence that this journey has let me see the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Sleepless nights, drinking benders, jealousy fueled rages, the whole 9. I’ve successfully become your a-typical, bat shit crazy ex boyfriend. I never even had to fill out an application.

So what lessons have I learned from this experience? What’s the “change” in my mind from what I’ve been through, what I’m looking back at, and what I have to move forward with?

Trust. A word that can be just as loosely defined as “love”. Different shapes, different definitions, different interpretations to different people. For her, trust is something she gives as a gift of herself to people and once it’s lost, it’s lost forever. She has been cheated on before, she’s had people walk out of her life, and I knew this. I always put forth the effort to tell her, to remind her, to show her and to let her trust that I wasn’t dating around. I wasn’t sleeping around. I wasn’t texting. But trust is bigger than that. Trust is an everyday sentiment, it’s an everyday feeling that you have to convey. And once it’s lost, can you ever gain it back? You can tell someone to the moon and back, but if they don’t feel it, and it’s not there, you lose that shimmer. You lose that shine, you lose that smile that comes after eye contact. She might smile at memories of me, but she doesn’t smile at me.

Communication. Communication about EVERYTHING. Communication about a facial reaction. Communication about an experience. Communication about a text message. Communication about a lack of exclamation marks. Communication because a smiley was misplaced. Communication because you don’t know how to pronounce a word. Communication about why you shouldn’t take things so personally. Communication about how you don’t have a right to just be quiet for 24 hours and not reach out for no reason. Communicate because you’re flustered in my asking “so are we going to spend time together after the 1st birthday party” and you feel like I’m making your plans for you and not involving you and automatically assuming that I don’t want to spend time with you. Communication in how she uses sex as a source of affection and you might be more of woman in that regard that you care to admit. Communication about how the standards and expectations that your friends live by are much more hollow than you think they are, and the bar you may be trying to set for yourself to achieve might not reward in the satisfaction you expect. Because exhausted of communicating to the point that when you’re there together in silence, you can be, and happily so, because you’ve talked about it all. Maybe you’ll realize how crazy she is. Maybe she’ll realize what a flake he can be. Maybe you’ll realize an insecurity that she doesn’t deserve to have. maybe she’ll realize he doesn’t know what he’s worth. But communicate it. Constantly.

Expectations. I have no idea what the perfect combination of flowers is. Except for my recent dive into 50 shades, I have no idea what an influence the smallest of movements or mentions of a man has on a woman. I’ve seen men open car doors before. I’ve taken girls out on dates, and out dancing. Sometimes I couldn’t take a hint if it was written on the end of a baseball bat and swung at my head. But you know what? Tell me. You know what you can compare me too? A puppy. I’m impressionable, I’m trainable, I’m almost guaranteed to fuck up, but I’m yours. I’m going to be silent through things. I’m going to not pick up on subtle hints. But you like letters? I’ll write you a book. You like flowers? I’ll call a florist. You like to go on dates? Let’s grab a basket and have a picnic. I can be overly calculating, analytical, even conspiring at times. But damn if there’s anything I know and am capable of, it’s that if there’s a way I know that I can make someone happy that means something to me, I’ll do it. Acknowledge the fact that not everyone is brought up in the same way you were, with different values, and different experiences. Appreciate the differences and respect the learning curve.

Passion. I pray that you in your life have one, having it for something. You might be fortunate enough to have it for someone. Acknowledge the effect it has on you and that it has on others. Some can stand confidently beside you and encourage it. Be curious of it, support it, maybe experience it if they want too. Some others by be intimidated by it. Some might see it in front of them and might just put them in a position to question themselves about it within themselves — what’s my passion? What am I mad or crazy about? If you’ve spoken to me for a few minutes or have known me for some time, you know my passions are very transparent. They can be blinding to me and can fluctuate over time as to what current goal or mission or objective has me on the run. The intensities may fade or wane but the passion with which I speak to them will always communicate that their present. I was told that he wasn’t one of my passions, that I didn’t make her feel as if she was one. This is a reality and point with which I’m still struggling. My passions are challenges, approached with a structure and a “step by step” mentality. Make it better, make it succeed, make it efficient, make it yours. That’s how I thought I was approaching things with her. Hit my marks, make my calls, send those texts, make those plans. Maybe it’ll come across as a passion with someone new? That drive to see them whenever you can because you can, to text them whenever you can text them, simply because you naturally want too?

Love. Love is all of this. Love is what makes you lay in bed with her long after she’s fallen asleep because you know she’s comfortable. Love is what has you typing on a blog at 3 am before a Monday, hoping anxiously for a phone call, or text, or email that you know is simply not coming. Love is what makes you deal with taking 3,200 selfies together. Love is what has you at a communion surrounded by other couples talking about glory days, just to get back to either of your homes and sit on the couch and watch CSI. Love is what has you stalking instagram profiles, seeing who this guy is who left a comment and whether she’s going out of her way to leave similar comments back, and why she hasn’t liked the selfie he posted but a week ago she was all comment crazy on his photos and he hasn’t liked her last two posts but he’s active on other profiles. Love is what keeps you in bed all weekend, making you get out just to use the bathroom and find food. Love is what has you researching minions and writing make believe letters from the behalf of Santa Claus. Love is what makes you skip an entire DJ’s album because every song reminds you of her. Love is what makes you drive home from AC at two in the morning because it’d be nicer to sleep together in the same bed. Love is what makes you spend $300 in international calling and texting because you were away for the holiday and for her birthday. Love is what has you read the first two volumes of 50 shades of gray in 6 days, and realizing that every inappropriate email you’ve ever written her were actually much better written than that crap. Love is what has you grab a cell phone that’s unlocked in her hands after she’s fallen asleep and have your will crushed reading text messages. Love is waking up, swallowing your pride every morning and going on knowing and determined to show her who you really are. Love is receiving a key to her heart, in the shape of an actual key. Love is what has you leaving notes beside her cell phone to wake up too, notes folded to find in her bag. Love is refilling her water bottle so it’s ready for the morning. Love is making your own rules, fucking what the expectations are and operating how you feel comfortable and happy doing it. Love is bringing left overs so she’ll have a meal to bring to work. Love is remember when staff meetings are, knowing her principals name, and knowing how her coworkers are.

Love is having the courage to tell her you love her. The one thing I never did.