dr jn ltr

"Hey. I'm sorry, you're a really nice guy..."

Barely an hour after the family Thanksgiving feast and hardly two minutes after uttering the words, "I don't know what's going on," the ringtone that indicates an incoming text sang its muffled cry from my pocket. I had a hunch as to who it was from before I even pulled the phone out. But I really didn't expect what I read.

I had a feeling something was going sour for a few weeks. The time spent together had become less frequent and the quality of that time had not necessarily gone bad, but it had changed. The atmosphere was not as fluid; the little things had all but vanished. The texts that used to fill my phone's memory bank in a few days had dwindled down to texts that were merely responses to mine. Forget about incoming calls; those were non-existent.

"...and you deserve the best..."

Flames die out if they're not fed fuel. It takes more than just wanting a fire to have a fire. You've got to add to it something that will keep it going. It's got to have oxygen. It's got to have fuel; something to burn. A relationship is like that fire, hot and bright, where one person is the wood and the other is air, both adding to the mix to keep the fire going. Sure, sometimes external factors can hinder the flames, like water being poured on the coals, but if you take away either internal factor, poof...out it goes. You both have to contribute; you both have to put forth the effort it takes for combustion.

"...but I'm not happy being in a relationship with you..."

I should have seen this coming. In a way, I did have a premonition. After the times spent together became more infrequent, I would look forward to the next time together. This last time we were apart, it was just over a week since I'd seen her. Wouldn't that make you want to see someone after all that time? Wouldn't you be excited as that time drew nearer? I was. When I mentioned that I was so excited on the drive over that I almost had butterflies; like it was the first time all over again, the response I got was, "That's just weird."

Weird? Weird that I felt that excited about seeing someone who took my breath away? Weird that I wanted to see her again? I didn't get it. I still don't.

"...and I'm sorry, but I think it would be better if we just parted ways."

After a while, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome grows quite old. When I say "doing the same thing over and over" I mean put my heart into somebody. I mean try and find someone who fits with my complexities, matches my simple personality, shares my love of weird things, tolerates my imperfections and won't run at the first sign of strife. Every time it seems right, it seems to go wrong. It gets tiring.

"I'm just not feeling it anymore...you didn't do anything wrong..."

I do love technology. I love having the world in the palm of my hand or at the end of my tapping fingertips. It does make things easier, if faster equates with easier, that is. Type up a few words, hit send and your recipient gets those words seconds later. Wanna read a book? Download that. Wanna hear a favorite song? YouTube it. Movies? Comics? Research? Just reach out and take it. There is something to say about a handwritten letter, though. The words written by hand, in my mind, carry a bit of the person who wrote them, like the ink flowed from their fingers. Reading a book...I love flipping through the pages. Renting a movie from the nearest Redbox...there's adventure in finding the nearest one with movies you want to see, and I usually throw an errand into the whole trip.

But you know what's best? What carries the most weight and means more to me than any email, text or even a handwritten letter? What puts more meaning into this whole "tactile experience of life?" Face to face communication. Sure, it's easier to say something when you don't have to look them in the eye. It takes the pressure off, reduces the timidity or the awkwardness of speaking. I'm the first to admit that my hands speak better than my tongue ever could. But when it comes to getting your point across with something as important as say, removing yourself from someone's life or expressing your love, nothing's better; nothing's more personal than live, in-your-face interaction.

"I just know you're not the one for me."

As much as that stuck the knife right into my heart, at least it wasn't twisted while it was in there. Truth is so much better than lies. Explanation is so much better than being left wondering why; so much better that the end comes sooner than later when all signs point toward failure, no matter how much you want it to work. I'm strangely fine with it. No regrets, right?

I'm not mad. Just like I wish for myself the best in this life quest, I too wish the same for her. Just like I want someone to put up with me, I wish the same for her. Like I said, I'm not mad.

I only wish that it had happened to my face, not via text.