The Perfect Pairing

"The only thing left for us, is entropy."

These are the last words you said to me, Olivia. You broke it off over text, which is something neither of us understood how people could do that. As if relationships meant so little they could be ended without being face to face. Neither of us could have known until then a relationship could also mean too much to be done in person. I'd try contacting you. I knew you hadn't blocked me, and that you wanted that channel open in case of an emergency. Except I didn't leave it open for emergencies, I filled it with generic pleasantries that barely disguised the pangs I had had for you. I missed you, I missed your son. You always thought of him as a burden, a step I wasn't ready for, but I loved him as I loved you. You hadn't known a man with that much space in his heart up to that point, and everything you experienced taught you not to trust it. I stopped messaging you, following the advice of a relationship coach. I was desperate, and willing to try everything in my power to be back with you. I know there are a lot of people out to make a profit by preying on the broken-hearted ones that can't accept a relationship is over, but the coach I found was nice. She was brunette, and her voice was calming, like yours, Olivia. It was always in the back of my mind that all the goal chasing, working out, and various miscellaneous self-improvement she coached me through was designed to increase my dopamine to the point that I either attracted you back, or had the more likely outcome of being able to accept the end of the relationship. There was an ultimatum, if I hadn't heard from you after no contact and improving, then it was time to move on. Except, I couldn't improve. I decayed, as you anticipated.

The little reminders of you in my house became the lost jigsaw puzzle pieces of our relationship. A faded writing on a whiteboard saying, "loving you is so easy," written in your half cursive handwriting. A pair of comfy fuzzy socks that you wanted to keep here for when you'd be over. A bottle of your favorite wine, a merlot. Even that has so much intrigue to it now, as I try to put the pieces together to figure out where things went wrong. I have resisted drinking it, knowing I'd tearfully down the whole bottle. I'd also secretly hoped I could keep it chilled for you, for you to have when you'd come back. Wine was a new thing for me. You were a new thing, and you were so different than what I'd pursued before, I normally fell for the sexpots. You had that side to you as well, but you seemed so much more like the Madonna that I'd always needed. There was so much I didn't know about wine. I remember getting wine at a chain restaurant for us, but I can't remember which one... it's too far away in my memory now. And I was excited because I thought I finally paired it well to the meal. But it was a cheaper wine, and you could tell. You smiled so lovingly anyway and said, "it's alright, I like box wine too."

There was such an intense familiarity with us right from the start—as if we'd known each other in another lifetime, or maybe in hindsight were star-crossed lovers. And yet each date felt like a first date, with me asking the same questions again and again. I have memory problems, it's an outcome of trauma you'd explained to me. So I had to work to remember things about you. Since I couldn't remember them well in my mind, I learned to put them in my heart, with everything else I hold most dear. I know memories tend to age like wine, and that as time goes on, we tend to overlook the bitter notes. I have to remind myself of them sometimes, despite how unpalatable it is. It's the only way the sweeter memories stay as sweet. That first "I love you" you said is only as perfect as it is if I also remind myself of how hurt I was to see you dating someone else within a few months of our breakup. I had to hate him, of course. It was the only way that I could remember the widening of your eyes when you looked at me when you admitted feeling safe and loved. After enough time passed, I stopped hating him, even stopped envying him. Instead, I felt sorry for him. He was the physical rebound to what was my emotional rebound for you, and you were the one that had to figure that out the hard way. I found my way to not blaming him, or you. You needed me to be broken, to fix your own broken parts by fixing mine. It wasn't by chance you became a nurse. The sacrificial caregiver in you tirelessly pursued people to take care of. I just had a few more broken parts than you could manage to fix, and still find happiness for yourself.

There are still nights I wake up, and it feels like I'm in a dream within a dream, a half reality away from still being with you. I have to take my time and remind myself, that it is better this way. I wish there were a way I could tell you it's okay, and that I don't blame you and never did. We just weren't as good of a pair as I had wanted us to be. It took me a long time, but I've finally arrived at the conclusion that I wouldn't want you to have stayed with me if you weren't happy. I know I'm different than most, in that the tiniest grain of happiness is enough for me to thrive. I always wanted you to have more than that, and I'm starting to want more than that too. I still think of all the things you said in the end, and it's becoming clearer now what you meant. How when you said you didn't want me to put my life on hold waiting for you. I took it as a subtle possibility of getting back together—if I waited enough. Now I know you wanted the best for me, too, and the way to get that was to move on. I smile when I think of you, finding your perfect person, and me being nothing more than a fond memory you have every now and then. I also think about that story you told me, about the man you checked on that had a stroke, who couldn't walk right anymore because the one side of his brain wasn't functioning properly anymore. How his brain learned to rewire itself to have the other side adapt to do the work for him to slowly start to walk again. I think if he can do it, I can learn to do things over again too. I'm still learning to live without you, and I'm learning to be patient with myself on that journey. I'm getting back to working out, and I'm learning to do it only for myself. I feel good about the person that the time in between us has created. I even asked a woman out recently. You should've seen her, Olivia, her smile lit up the room, I had to ask her out. I need that kind of light, to balance out the darkness within me and the world, to remind myself there are so many wonderful things I have to learn about yet. Isn't that what's great about aging, that we can improve ourselves and grow over time? I met her getting coffee, isn't that so cliche? But also wholesome and sweet? I'm excited and nervous and hopeful all at once. I'm thinking of ordering steak and a merlot when we go out for our date. I'm still learning how to pair things, but I feel good about the chance to figure it out as I go.