A few years ago I got involved with someone, and it was quick and intense. It was one of those online things that shoots off like a rocket, and then when you’re no longer blinded by the flare you realize it’s nothing more than vapor in the night sky.
Everytime I hear the song “Beautiful Disaster” by Kelly Clarkson, I think of him:
And if I try to save him
My whole world could cave in
It just ain’t right
It just ain’t right
Oh and I don’t know
I don’t know what he’s after
But he’s so beautiful
Such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster?
He is one of those men that, when his father tried to toughen him up, went the opposite direction. He was somehow more whiny, more indignant, and more victimized than the average male. This wasn’t readily apparent in the beginning, blinded as I was by his good-natured charm and generosity of spirit. Unfortunately the bad outweighed the good. That’s how it goes sometimes.
I ended the intense romantic part of the relationship but, at his insistence, kept in touch. His idea of keeping in touch has been reaching out to me romantically, but always more “why don’t you love me anymore?” than “do you ever miss what we had?” I have kept in touch partially by fielding these inquiries, and partly by saying “hi” when I feel lonely and need an ego boost.
I accept my part in our little drama. I feel guilty about it, and then we interact, then things grind to a halt, and he’s off my radar for a time.
I did us both a favor the other day, and I deleted him. He’s no longer a Facebook friend, not on my Blackberry Messenger, out of my contact list. I never memorized his phone number so I don’t have that to worry about. I deleted all of his old emails and emptied the trash. I took the love note he wrote me out of my wallet and shredded it.
It’s not like we can’t find each other if we really need to, because that is entirely possible. I just can’t imagine why we would need to be in contact. I would imagine in a few years he will pop into my mind and I will search my synapses for his last name, unable to find it.
At least I hope that’s how it goes.