There comes a time in a troubled relationship, should it tarry long enough before one party or another walks away, where we cease to love, and we cease to hate.  A time when the emotional roller-coaster is over, but we’re still loitering near the ride.  Some may call this point apathy.  Others may call it desensitization, and still others acceptance.  None of these are wrong; each copes with life in their own way.

At this moment, I call it “weariness”.

I am tired.  I’m tired of the ups and downs, the momentary thrills, the pregnant hopes, and the eventual disappointments.  I’ve been on this roller coaster so many times, and every time I go on it again, I feel less and less compelled to care that I’m even on it.  I want to care.  I want to love it, or hate it, or even just be friends with it.  But all the feelings I had for it I felt out yesterday, leaving none for today.  I’m just so tired of trying to care when I’ve already cared so much in every direction I could possibly care.  Nothing excites me about the relationship anymore.  Whether or not I’ve memorized the turns, whether or not I notice something unexpected…  I don’t even care that I haven’t memorized the ride after so many trips on it.  And there’s no hope now.  There’s nowhere else the relationship can go.  Everything she could do to me in the future she’s already done.  She can’t redeem herself with apologies, because I know she’ll go back on them later.  And she can’t work me up with insults, because I know she’ll go back on those too.

I hate it.  I hate that it turned out like this, that it has to be like this.  It didn’t have to be.  We could have been happy.  We could have stayed in our small town, with our small jobs and our small houses, and we would have been happy.  And a part of me wants to think that maybe, maybe if she told me she wanted to leave it all behind and go back to the way things were, maybe I’d believe her.  Maybe I’d care, because at this point it’s the only thing left she hasn’t tried.  But she won’t.  Because she does live in a big city now, with a big job and a big house.  She has commitments now; it’s not a bridge she can just burn whenever she wants to.  We’re stuck with this life now.  And I hate that we have to be.  I hate that I can’t forget the past, because that’s where all the good times were.  If I could forget the past, I could let her go; if I believed that all she used to be in the past was completely gone from her, I could let her go.  But I still want to hope that she’ll change, that she’s still that cute little small-town girl I loved.  If I would have let go sooner, I might have left the relationship feeling something: joy, sorrow, rage, hope, anything.  But now there’s nothing left to feel, whether I let go or not.  All that’s left is a “relationship”, a vague and empty word devoid of any meaning without emotion attached to it.

I see her sometimes, in a hallway, or on the street, every few months.  We get coffee, share stories.  And every time, I see her trying so hard to impress me, or impress the people around her.  And it’s all so fake to me.  It doesn’t mean anything anymore.  But I know she has to do it, because that’s the kind of person she is now.  Or maybe I’m the one who changed, and she’s always been like this.  All I know is she’ll never win me back, but she’ll never truly drive me away, and I’m too tired to crawl out of this middle ground now.  I wish I could just go to sleep, and rest myself from all this, and wake up with a fresh heart and a fresh soul.  I wish that she’d just stop trying to win me back, and tell me it’s over.  I wish it were all in the past, so I could at least look back on it from an outsider’s perspective and remember the good times we had, long ago.

But she keeps asking me out for coffee.  She keeps drawing this relationship out, month after month.  And I keep letting her.  I keep kindling this morbid curiosity of what asinine tale she’ll spin next, while at the same time feeling nothing from them anymore.  I’ve ceased to humor her, be mad at her, or feel pity for her.  I go along with it because I’m just biding my time, waiting for it to be over, wishing for it to be over so I can move on with my life.  Maybe I’m weak.  Maybe I’m clinging to something that doesn’t exist just to say I’m clinging to something.  Maybe I should stop letting her be a part of my life, and tell her that it’s over instead of waiting for her to tell me.

But I’m just too tired to care anymore.

{Brought to you by:  the same thing that brought you yesterday’s post}

{I’m not talking about a literal girl.  I could be.  But I’m not.}


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