So, I came home from work yesterday. I knew Sam had been stopping by here and there, but so far we had successfully managed to avoid seeing each other. It's my fault. I jinxed it with a day count in my writing.
I warned him in advance, just in case. He told me he was there. I told him I was coming home and to leave. In the end, we were in the same place, the same space, at the same time. And it was uncomfortable.
To say the least.
I was trying not to talk to him. I don't really think there is anything left to say. Talking implies that I want to work through things. And I don't anymore. I can't. It never lasts. The changes don't stick. In fact, as part of the blowout that I'll be sharing in a second, he mentioned that I try to change him into something he's not. I'm not sure what that is. He claimed that he liked that I made him a better man. Maybe being a better man is too hard to maintain. That must be it.
And so he was annoyed that I wasn't speaking. I have turned it into something of an art form. Years of practice.
Sam: So, we're done being civil.
me: I think civility went out the window when you stopped taking my phone calls.
And so he went about a lengthy explanation of the events of Saturday. In the end, all we agree on is that it shouldn't have ended that way...which is not to say we want it to start back up. We seem to be in agreement on that point, too. We're done.
Still, I don't know how to be around him.
What does it matter, you ask?
He wanted to move back in. He has claims on the house. And so, he spent the night...mostly making me miserable. He's mean in the best of times, so when he no longer cares and takes the gloves off...ouch. And soon I was crying...no, sobbing. I shut myself in the bedroom with my body just shook with sobs. It was horrible.
He took the hint. I'm subtle like that. He tried to explain that he was trying to be as vicious as possible so that it would stick this time. I can only assume this is because he worries that he'll cave because I never go chasing after him. He remembers the good stuff and comes after me.
Finally, we spoke. He was on the couch. I was in the hall doorway.
Sam: I'll leave tomorrow. I won't come back until you're gone other than to take care of Bishop. You won't have to see me again.
me: I think that's best.
I really do. For reasons I can't understand, he claims I make him miserable. I know why he makes me miserable. It's his dark moods that he doesn't admit that he has. They linger. They have me walking on eggshells. They have me quiet and sad.
I'm not good with being quiet and sad. I'm the vibrant and happy type. Just, apparently, not with him. That in and of itself makes me sad, that someone else has so much control over my moods.
It's time to let go. It will never work between us. I see him, working on the computer or sitting on the couch. He's a stranger to me now. Three years of my life and I don't feel like I know him anymore. Maybe in some ways I never did.
Someday there will be someone who stirs a new dream. Until then, this dreamer dreams alone. And I'll never stop dreaming.
