Tear streaked kisses

I know it all sounds dramatic in retrospect, but it wasn't. We never yelled, we were hardly ever unhappy; the time we did have together made me happier than I ever even thought possible, and the time apart made me realize why I loved him so much. Watching other couples together and listening to my friends talk about their boyfriends only made me realize that M was the best person I'd ever known. 

M made me the best version of myself, and I tried to do the same for him. His support was and is always unwavering. I hope he felt the same in return. 

I reflect on some of what is on here and I wonder if I am not the most atrocious, hideous person - selfish and mean. I won't make excuses for our faults as a couple or individuals, I'll only say that we were real and honest, and we dealt with everything as upfront and honestly as possible. M always knew that I wanted a career that would mean love came second for awhile, which sounds just as bad written out here as I thought it would. But I was always I honest, I was always upfront, and I never misled him. And he showed me the same respect. There were never lies, not intentional ones. There was always trust. I never for a second worried he would be unfaithful and I know he never worried about that either. There is no one either of us wanted to be with more than each other...

So then how did we end up here, oceans apart... 

I suppose life happened. For one, I suppose I wanted more than life at home and my family wanted that for me - allowed me to go without ever making me feel obligated to them. M has a different situation. I am lucky to have the family that I do, the family that can encourage and push me to achieve my most outrageous dreams. M's family needs him; in a way my family doesn't need me.

Back to the day of the letter of acceptance... 

I had dropped M off at his friends, headed back into the city to sort visa and packing issues. My family took me for an impromptu celebratory dinner - as I said before M didn't want to come. I'm sure there were a myriad of reasons - leaving the next day to Mexico, not wanting to field the 'what will happen questions', not being entirely ready to toast my departure... - but still it hurt. I wanted to spend my every waking (and sleeping) second with him, yet I knew I also had to give my family the appropriate amount of face time. Dinner consisted of my sister, her husband, my brother, both my parents and my grandmother and me. My sister, recently pregnant, gave us yet another reason to celebrate and it felt good to be able to simply be happy, but without M at the table with me something was just so clearly missing for me. 

After dinner I drove back out to M's parents house where we would spend the night. I had offered to drive him and his dad to the airport the next morning at 4 a.m. What a girl in love will do just to get a few more minutes! I arrived around 10 p.m. M was waiting up for me. It was finally time.  It was time to have the talk that I knew would shatter my heart into a million tiny pieces and leave me changed forever.  

We went out to his dad's car. It was more private. Just the two of us. As I try to relive this conversation to write it all down it hurts my heart all over again. It started along the lines of M saying 'So, we're breaking up...'  We hashed out the details of what it meant and what we each needed to do with the year if we were ever going to have a real chance of being together again. I needed to spend the year learning about myself and the type of person I wanted to be with, and M needed to spend the year learning about himself and deciding if the life he told me he wanted, really and truly is the life he wants. It seems so simple in writing, but in real life it’s complicated and messy. 

And while I wish I could share the whole conversation it's too hard to write. I think about it and my insides sear with pain all over again. I do remember wondering aloud to M how I ever could have been so callous to think that it would hurt less if I left because of school; regardless I was leaving. I remember sobbing and saying repeatedly 'It hurts too much.' It felt like the pain would never go away, and sometimes it still does. I remember apologizing repeatedly, as if somehow it might help. I remember the tears that fell on his shirt. My tears... his tears...our tears... they all mixed together. I remember how he smelled - a smell I know I'll never forget, a smell that was home for 3 and half years. But mostly I remember the look in his eyes. I hate myself for hurting him; I hate myself for it every day. 

That night we got into bed together and held each other. I wouldn't let him go. I hardly slept at all and the 3:45 a.m. alarm came all too soon. We both got out of bed and put on clothes. I'm pretty sure I was still crying and hadn't even realized it. We said goodbye to his mom and loaded the car. M had his dad sit in the front - I wanted to scream 'no,' I pleaded silently with my eyes... But M knew what he was doing. With M in the front seat I'd have been a wreck and we wouldn't have made it any where near the airport. So we all idly chatted on the ride to the airport, talking about Mexico and M's dad's business he was hoping to set up. We chatted about M's childhood memories from different places we passed. We chatted about wedding we had once gone to on the road we drove past. We chatted about speed limits. We chatted about the sunrise. We chatted...  Until we were finally there: The airport. 

We unloaded the bags. M's dad crossed the road to give us some privacy. I tried not to cry, but as M held me for what I was afraid was the final time something inside me broke all over again. We kissed, and then we kissed again. He started to leave and then we kissed once more, a tearful kiss. He crossed the street to the entrance of the airport. I got back into the car. 

I sat at the steering wheel sobbing for what felt like an eternity. 

It couldn't end this way. It couldn't end so abruptly. I wouldn't let it.