Time Well Wasted

Baseret på et digt af samme titel fra min blog ileftwordsunsaid.tumblr.com

Based on a poem of the same title from my blog ileftwordsunsaid.tumblr.com


1. Time Well Wasted

"What’s that supposed to mean?" she asked me. 

"That I’m sorry, but I don’t love you," I replied. 

We met when we were both young - young, innocent and naïve, waiting to take the first step up the mountain that is life. And we fell in love.

Or at least, she fell in love with me, though I’m not sure if I ever fell in love with her. But I was lonely and she made me happy. And I did love her. She was wonderful in every way; she was beautiful, smart, somewhat funny and she listened to all my idiotic problems, my random angry rants and she stood up with every single bad joke, my terrible, yet often used singing voice and she was there for me when I needed her. And vice versa.

Sometimes, she missed me even though I was right next to her, and all of the time, I would enjoy the idolization.

More than one time I questioned our love, questioned whether or not I was actually in love with her. I knew she was in love with me, and I knew I loved her. But I wasn’t sure how I loved her. I fell in love with another girl, and I guess she fell for me, but I never did anything about it. I couldn’t, because I already had a girlfriend. And the other girl knew and respected that. And I didn’t want to hurt her, so I stayed with her. After all, I was probably still in love with my girlfriend as well. It was just my weird head acting up, because I was afraid of commitment. Of course I was in love with her!

Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. 

We grew older together, we got married and had two kids | just like regular, loving couples. When I looked at her, I loved her. When she smiled at me, I loved her even more. But when she was not there, I didn’t think about her at all. I thought about the girl of my dreams, Lucy, whom I had let go many years ago. And I asked myself, whether or not I was in love with my wife.

But of course I was, we had been together for so many years now! Our friends always referred to us as the perfect couple, as we practically never argued, our children were wonderful and we had been together for so many years without friction. The truth is, I probably didn’t care enough to get angry when we disagreed. Simultaneously, she was so bad at decisions and so in love, that most of the time, I’d get my way any way. 

Sometimes, she would love me so much it hurt her, and all of the time, I knew this would eventually destroy her.

Our kids grew older, moved out and lived their own lives. My wife seemed as in love as ever, and I found myself growing more and more bitter each day. I had nothing left but regret and a guilty conscience left after all the lies.

After every single time I told her; “I love you,” and didn’t really mean it.

After every single time we fucked, and I just wanted to get it over with.

After every minute spent lying, acting and letting her believe we were perfect, when in fact, there was nothing left. 

I was scared to tell her this when I first realized it so many years ago. I was so afraid of hurting her, that I just kept going for her sake. It was the right thing to do, I convinced myself, even though, in reality, all I did was take away the opportunity to experience what it felt like to be truly loved and adored by another person. But I was too much of a coward to admit it.

Sometimes, I wish I could have just faked it forever.

Then I met that girl again. Lucy. It had been so many years, and she was currently single. It turned out she had been through a series of failed relationships, and we talked, and laughed and drank. She admitted, that she had been inlove with me back then. I admitted that I had been in love with her ever since.

And then we kissed.

When I came home that night, I told her the whole story. 

"I can’t do this any more," I ended. 

"What’s that supposed to mean?" she asked me. 

"That I’m sorry, but I don’t love you," I replied. Admittedly, that was a quite insensitive sentence, but it needed to be said.

She looked at me in silence, lips trembling and eyes watering.

"I’m sorry," was all I could muster. 

She walked away from me, and I was left to wonder if all that would’ve really happened if I hadn’t broken up with her today, while we were still young.

But I believe that was the right thing to do.

All of the time, she fucking deserved much better than me.

And I knew it.

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