'Still, we'd fall asleep in each other's arms and wake up on the floor'
The Story So Far
Shannon Barry
Issue date: 11/16/06 Section: Opinion
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And so it was, without her, my life fell back into the humdrum of routine.
Work, driving to work, life revolving around work, and, whenever I could, going out with my friends … if work permitted.
The last time I spoke to her, I realized she had been the most comforting constant in my life. As I embraced her and eventually watched her walk away, I realized that I was not only losing my first love. I was losing my passion. I was losing my peace of mind. I was losing my counterpart. But most of all, I was losing my best friend and a piece of myself.
As we talked on the beach that last day, we agreed that we were no longer in love. We agreed that we had merely become comfortable with each other. But we also agreed that we didn't want to lose one another.
Our relationship had lasted one year. Although it wasn't a long period of time, it was long enough to grow used to someone. To depend on their daily phone calls … calls that came at just the right time during the frustrating events that often occurred within life or calls that could also disrupt the most mundane of events.
Watching a movie, eating, walking in the wetlands across from my house.
But, a month later, we weren't talking to each other like we had hoped, like we had wanted, and it was no one's fault.
To be completely honest, the failure of our relationship came in with our lack of communication. And how could we expect a friendship to ensue when we had never been compatible in the most minor of ways?
When we were together, I found it interesting how little we had in common. Because, although it sounded cliché, opposites attract.
She was a hardcore liberal, constantly worried about the injustices of the world, global warming and the right for women to choose.
I was in no way a conservative, but I did believe in the right to bear arms. In fact, I found it interesting that someone who had despised guns as much as she did had found an interest in me to begin with.
Work, driving to work, life revolving around work, and, whenever I could, going out with my friends … if work permitted.
The last time I spoke to her, I realized she had been the most comforting constant in my life. As I embraced her and eventually watched her walk away, I realized that I was not only losing my first love. I was losing my passion. I was losing my peace of mind. I was losing my counterpart. But most of all, I was losing my best friend and a piece of myself.
As we talked on the beach that last day, we agreed that we were no longer in love. We agreed that we had merely become comfortable with each other. But we also agreed that we didn't want to lose one another.
Our relationship had lasted one year. Although it wasn't a long period of time, it was long enough to grow used to someone. To depend on their daily phone calls … calls that came at just the right time during the frustrating events that often occurred within life or calls that could also disrupt the most mundane of events.
Watching a movie, eating, walking in the wetlands across from my house.
But, a month later, we weren't talking to each other like we had hoped, like we had wanted, and it was no one's fault.
To be completely honest, the failure of our relationship came in with our lack of communication. And how could we expect a friendship to ensue when we had never been compatible in the most minor of ways?
When we were together, I found it interesting how little we had in common. Because, although it sounded cliché, opposites attract.
She was a hardcore liberal, constantly worried about the injustices of the world, global warming and the right for women to choose.
I was in no way a conservative, but I did believe in the right to bear arms. In fact, I found it interesting that someone who had despised guns as much as she did had found an interest in me to begin with.
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