Does anyone really mean it when they say they want to stay friends?
11:43 am, Sunday, Dec. 20, 2009

This morning I woke up sad. I tried to push it away and distract myself with a book. The Tomato Girl wasn't the best choice. Wonderful book but it's like glue for the already sticky sadness.

Once upon a time I was in love with someone who didn't want it. Instead of "happily ever after" I got a broken heart, months of something much darker and thicker than sadness, and lost my best friend.

And finally that all cleared away. I was happy again but better. Happier and in a more lasting way. I felt okay with who I was and what I had and if that meant being alone that was fine. My life was okay.

Then a new story started, a new "once upon a time" and this time it all felt right. That other story, there were plenty of times that I felt misgivings, that my heart or my brain told me things I just didn't listen to. But this time... this time I thought I had it right at long last.

He was constantly glad to see me, glad to talk to me, told me again and again how wonderful it was to have me in his life. He flew halfway around the world to be here and then two weeks later he flew back. Almost 20,000 miles traveled. For me. It seemed too good to be true, too wonderful to last.

And so it was.

He got home and things changed. That gladness, that excitement, whatever it was that made me believe maybe it really was finally my turn... was gone.

I'd ask what was wrong and he'd tell me it was work. Or me worrying for nothing. Or just him being less talkative than me.

But finally what I got was "I love you, just not in love with you" and eventually... that was that.

He didn't break up with me, he left it all to me. I could move there (as I was planning to early next year) and we could "see how things go" but it no longer felt like compromise. Now it just felt like gambling where I was the one giving up everything, losing everything, risking everything. Give up everything and everyone I've ever know, lose almost everything I own, risk my heart... I'd have done it. I really would have. But not for someone who said he might love me one day and was willing to go along until then.

I told him that I deserved someone who wanted me.

Now I wonder again. Do I? I mean, obviously there is something lacking with me that I keep giving my heart away to people who don't want it, don't know what to do with it, don't want to share their own.

I know I'll be okay. I will. I'll survive this and move on and whatever life I end up with will be a life I'll live just fine.

But it makes me so tired.

I thought this time I was being careful, being cautious.

I was wrong.

Again.