February 14th was surprising to me to say the least. There were 2 lovely bouquets of flowers on my doorstep when I got home. I knew one had to be from him. The first were from my wonderful sister-in-law who somehow knew what RR would do and had literally come to sweep them off my porch and take them away. I'm glad she didn't do that because the card he left put me on a high that I have been coming off of for the last day and a half.
His card was handwritten on one side, a whole page. It started with "The grass is not greener on the other side" and ended with how miserable he is. That page was amazing. I thought for sure we were on the verge of getting back together.
The other page said, Love Always RR and P.S. I'm Sorry.
If I would have only read the left side of all of his
heart-wrenching love and heartache I would have gone flying back into
his arms. But the right side was hard to ignore.
And then I remembered that essentially this could have been the 8th
time. The 8th time he was sorry and the 7th time I took him back...No.
No. It couldn't be right? How many guys do you know that hand-write a
whole page telling you how much they miss you?
But how
many guys just end it with a Post Script of being sorry?
"P.S. I'm Sorry" helped solidify my strength and also my sadness. It pretty much undid the whole left side of the card. It didn't say, P.S. I'm going to prove to you how much I love you or P.S. I am going to pull my head out of my ass or P.S. please marry me. It just said he was sorry. To me that meant, "I can't change". I am what I am what I am. I am sorry for that.
P.S. I'm Sorry seemed like "The End".
Strong just feels sad to me. So why did the card put me on a "high"? Because for one whole day I thought maybe he was as sad as I am. For one whole day I thought, "He isn't interested in anyone else anymore, he knows we are meant to be together, he is Sorry." Unfortunately Sorry isn't always an advocate for change.
There is a train track between my house and the house he lived in for the last 4 years. Whenever we would hear the train while laying in bed one of us would say "hmmmmm...our train" and then pull the other tighter. The train made us miss each other when we were apart. We would text each other and say "Here Without You" whenever we heard the train. That is our song, and his famous tattoo. I have been texting him that saying longer than I will ever admit to anyone. I heard the train this morning at 5am and I ached for him. Ached. He doesn't live there anymore so he doesn't hear the train. And I am jealous of him. Jealous of no heartache. Jealous of the ability to be selfish. If jealousy is the art of counting someone else's blessings instead of your own then it is true. I am jealous that he is blessed not to have to hear the sound of that train.
