let it go


The wind whistles through my newish windows and keeps me awake most of the night. This is a new development because up until this point they have done a great job of protecting me against the elements. After a night of drinking and then a very long walk home, being kept awake by whistling windows is the last thing that I wanted. Upon the aforementioned walk home I was kept entertained by messages being sent by a lovely lady who I wished could have been walking beside me rather than on the other side of faceless messages. Of course, the thought caused conflict within (as do most things) because she is not the one I truly want. The one I truly want waits in silence and spends her time now locked away with the family that she has started. Is it strange to say ‘start a family’? Like starting a car? Oh well, it is accepted descriptive convention, I suppose.
                So, after three hours of sleep or so, feeling like death itself, I get out of bed and feed my cats. I make a cup of coffee and I start to listen to music. There is something pleasant about the feeling of disconnection that I feel. I’m so tired it seems as though reality flickers in and out in brief patches. Everything seems subliminal and incongruous. Yet, today, I have to work and this prevents me from enjoying the tranquil disconnection. Today I must stay alert for seven and a half hours. I must communicate with colleagues and speak to customers. Each problem they report seems increasingly meaningless to me.
                My phone beeps with a message and it is my ex-wife telling me that her boyfriend told her he understands why our marriage never worked out and how happy I must be to be away from it. Not a particularly nice thing to say. They have a child together now so they can’t walk out of each other’s lives forever. I recall the time this boyfriend visited England whilst my ex-wife and I were still married. We travelled into London to meet up with him and he was constantly talking about marriage and how bad it was and how he would always be single. Now he has an unhappy partner and a child. His situation makes marriage look like a forty five minute joy ride through a pleasant part of the world. My ex says things like ‘he is always messaging his friends but he hates it when I message him. Why does he find it more interesting messaging his friends?’ To me, if a person doesn’t know the answer to this question, there is no hope for the relationship. It’s not uncommon, of course, for someone to prefer to message friends than their partner. One of the main reasons for this is that a partner is always questioning, always suspicious, always protective and defensive. It simply isn’t fun, once the honeymoon period is over, to message one’s partner. This is sad but it is true. Couples get too heavily involved in the process of survival rather than actually having fun and this is why I believe that couples should live independently and apart. That way, relationships would always be like the relationships that we have earlier in life where we meet only for the fun parts. The actual living... the daily routines... they are performed alone and in private.
                Perhaps there is something seriously wrong with me. I used to feel so involved. I used to offer advice and really feel the pain that people felt through fading love. I used to empathise deeply with their every moment of anguish. Now I have simply suffered too much and I have seen the pattern too many times. There is nothing you can do. Love dies and people grow tired of each other. Once this happens, there is no point in clinging to the other person because being with someone who is not interested is a hundred times worse than losing that person and being alone. I suspect that many people can’t see beyond the fear of their partner being with another person. It is silly... it happens... often it happens whilst people are still together. Accept that life and love are often painful and that there is very little you can do. If you love something let it go... truly... it is the only true love.

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