Monday, 24 June 2013

Should have known better

Virgil and I have an excruciating breakfast, and I can't decide what to do.

I say: "I feel like shaking you, shaking some sense into you."
Virgil smiles slightly, and I return it.
"Sense as I see it, at least," I finish.
"We had a really good love. There were good things. It's such a waste. It's crazy not to at least try to fix things."

"But I don't want to work any more at it," says Virgil. "I think ultimately we're too different. I'm sad and I miss you. I still want you in my life and I would like us to be friends, but I feel that this is the right thing to do. I feel guilty and sad that I'm making you sad but I don't want to try to fix it."

"You're selfish like a stone," I say. "You didn't try nearly as hard as me. Perhaps I need to hate you a bit to get over this break-up."

This was the, perhaps inevitable, outcome of my recent regression into missing the good things about Virgil while forgetting the bad. We agreed how much we had enjoyed each other's company at the wedding. Virgil said: "It was like we were better than when we had been together."

I said: "It's not that: it's that when we were together we saw each other all the time. We took each other's company for granted, and carried resentments and bad moods into our interactions. The getting on brilliantly is why we fell in love to begin with."

Now I realise why people need space after they split up. I'm in the danger zone of missing Virgil and forgetting how unhappy I was with him. Virgil is implacable in his sense that we could not have made things right; I'm not so sure, but this sense of doubt is something that has crept in.

The question now is whether to take a break from seeing him and hope that at some point in the future things will be easier and we can try again as friends. But we are friends already... and the idea of a blanket ban is agonising and would be difficult to enforce.

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