i make no apologies

I haven’t spoken to you  in months.  The last time we talked, I poured my struggles out to you, and you pushed them aside as if they were background noise of the television while you made dinner.  It wasn’t then I then realized you would never care about me the way I cared about you-I had realized that long ago.  Rather, it was that you couldn’t be bothered to care about me at all, when I spent years and relationships putting you first.

Now I’m coming to the cities next month for a concert.  If this was a romantic comedy (or tragedy, if we’re being honest), this would be the transition scene where it shows a shot of me driving, with the reflection of the city sprawled across my face in the car window.  I’d stop at a red light, and there would be a flashback to that intersection of us running across it holding hands, stopping to kiss.

But this wasn’t a movie, and we weren’t a fairytale.  Rather, I was young, and fell too hard and too fast for a man who had no intention of ever doing the same to me.  Ours was one of those long, drawn-out painful stories that a smarter (or older)  woman would have walked away from somewhere around Chapter 3.  But I held out till there was nothing left to say, held out till I went bankrupt and hit Chapter 11, left with the remains of our relationship, and the debt of too many unanswered questions.

2 years ago, I wouldn’t have went to this city without letting you know.  I would have invited you to the concert, and held your hand, squeezing it when he plays the songs we listened to as we fell asleep in your room.  But I’m not that young anymore, and you’re not the man I thought you once were.  I can go to the cities without thinking of it as your city.   I can think of you as more of a fleeting memory than as my constant reminder.  I won’t wonder if this is the diner we always ended up at for breakfast,  and I certainly won’t worry about you.  I learned how to do that from you.

I won’t call you to tell you thank you for introducing me to this artist that I love, and I won’t text you when he plays your favorite song.  I’m almost positive I’d be wrong, because we haven’t talked about his new songs, his new albums, or our new lives.  Maybe it’s easier that way, or maybe I had no choice.  What I do know is that while sometimes you cross my mind (that song on the radio, photos I ran across while unpacking, movies on a bad cable station late Saturday afternoon), you no longer hold center stage.  What I do know is E doesn’t love there anymore.

-E