'Remember our first apartment?/Our couch was never big enough for two'
The Story So Far
Shannon Barry
Issue date: 10/26/06 Section: Opinion
- Page 1 of 1
And just like that, she was gone. The best that ever happened to me and the hardest person to let go.
It took me one day to realize I missed her. It took me three days to realize you can't undo what's been done.
And it took me seven days to realize that whether or not you want to admit it, the consequences of our actions seems to linger more often than the happiness of our memories.
As if somehow, during our last goodbye - her giving up too easy and me giving in - was when we had truly lost sight of each other.
As I watched her walk away that day, now yet another memory of our past, I had wanted nothing more than to grab her hand, bring her close to me and hold her, if only for one second longer.
But I didn't.
I watched her walk away, and I opened the door to my Honda.
I sat in the car for what felt like countless hours. Because everything I owned now was nothing but a painful reminder of losing my love, losing my patience and slowly losing my compassion … again.
Now, four weeks later, I palmed the rose-shaped seashell in my hand, smirked and set it back down on my desk.
The most painful thing about losing her was I had lost a piece of myself.
Losing my passion, my drive for life … the very reason to wake up in the morning.
It was hard to imagine that was all she had become.
As I looked around the perimeters of my apartment, dirty and barren, I opened the fridge.
Nothing.
Quesadillas, rice milk, soda … nothing of content.
"I need to know that I'm appreciated," the ghost of his past screamed.
Why was it that when people became completely secure in relationships, they began to falter? Was it the comfort or just the pure laziness?
I was no longer bitter.
In fact, I had begun to become used to being alone.
Perhaps the most painful realization of all came when I knew I would have to put my guard back up, become cold again.
I was becoming what I had been taught my whole life, but felt compelled to change since the first day I met her.
Relationships.
Give and take.
Push and pull.
Equal, always.
At least how it should have been in my mind.
But when you love someone, when you give your heart, mind and soul to that person completely, how much should you be willing to change?
In a relationship, how far should you go to please the one you love?
"If it comes naturally, I don't see a problem," a friend once told me. "It's only when these changes are forced that it becomes problematic."
She said she needed time. She had become cold, bitter and angry.
And when they first met, she couldn't stop giggling just at the thought of holding his hand.
Time to think, time to sort through feelings and time to let the pain heal.
Shannon Barry is the Spartan Daily A&E editor. "The Story So Far" appears every Thursday.
It took me one day to realize I missed her. It took me three days to realize you can't undo what's been done.
And it took me seven days to realize that whether or not you want to admit it, the consequences of our actions seems to linger more often than the happiness of our memories.
As if somehow, during our last goodbye - her giving up too easy and me giving in - was when we had truly lost sight of each other.
As I watched her walk away that day, now yet another memory of our past, I had wanted nothing more than to grab her hand, bring her close to me and hold her, if only for one second longer.
But I didn't.
I watched her walk away, and I opened the door to my Honda.
I sat in the car for what felt like countless hours. Because everything I owned now was nothing but a painful reminder of losing my love, losing my patience and slowly losing my compassion … again.
Now, four weeks later, I palmed the rose-shaped seashell in my hand, smirked and set it back down on my desk.
The most painful thing about losing her was I had lost a piece of myself.
Losing my passion, my drive for life … the very reason to wake up in the morning.
It was hard to imagine that was all she had become.
As I looked around the perimeters of my apartment, dirty and barren, I opened the fridge.
Nothing.
Quesadillas, rice milk, soda … nothing of content.
"I need to know that I'm appreciated," the ghost of his past screamed.
Why was it that when people became completely secure in relationships, they began to falter? Was it the comfort or just the pure laziness?
I was no longer bitter.
In fact, I had begun to become used to being alone.
Perhaps the most painful realization of all came when I knew I would have to put my guard back up, become cold again.
I was becoming what I had been taught my whole life, but felt compelled to change since the first day I met her.
Relationships.
Give and take.
Push and pull.
Equal, always.
At least how it should have been in my mind.
But when you love someone, when you give your heart, mind and soul to that person completely, how much should you be willing to change?
In a relationship, how far should you go to please the one you love?
"If it comes naturally, I don't see a problem," a friend once told me. "It's only when these changes are forced that it becomes problematic."
She said she needed time. She had become cold, bitter and angry.
And when they first met, she couldn't stop giggling just at the thought of holding his hand.
Time to think, time to sort through feelings and time to let the pain heal.
Shannon Barry is the Spartan Daily A&E editor. "The Story So Far" appears every Thursday.
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