Shattered

I think the hardest part in all of this is to keep it from making me jaded. I have survived so many things, and I wonder sometimes what it is that makes people capable of telling someone that they love them even as they extricate them from their lives. My instincts tell me there's something I'm missing in all of this, some tiny detail, but I ignore them because I don't want to believe it. The discomfort of being close to someone that you shared a bed with so soon prior, the lashing out over anything that can be grasped. I would have worked through anything, except deceit. I am no fool, only a man in love, who doesn't dare believe that someone else could slander something so sacred. But what other answer is there, you tell me why you did it, but have you told me what it is you've done? What it is you intend to do? Why do I get set aside in all of this, I have treated you with love, respect, and honor. Do I not deserve the same in response? You tell me I did this to you, that I put those walls up between us. Was I not the one who broke down your walls? Was I not the one who held you close, who took your prior deceit and and let it fly away with the wind? Was I not the one at your side, when you gave birth to our daughter, promising you that you could do it? Have I not encouraged you? Have I not begun the arduous process of building a life for us? 

Do I not deserve better than a restrained kiss and a goodbye? Do I not deserve resolution? For all of the struggles we have had, I have ever remained at your side, faithful and loving. I have held on to a future that we could both revel in, and now I'm left looking like a beggar praying for scraps of what once was. That is not how you treat love, and I refuse to stoop to the depraved notion that you did not love me. So what broke that? We can go on and on about what I've done wrong, but does it truly justify the suffering I must now endure? I was not seeking placation, I offered you your way out if you so desired, and yet you gave me just enough hope to smile, only to snatch it away upon my leaving. Now comes one more eve of sleeping on a tear-dampened pillow, one more night of wondering exactly where I lost you. But I've no choice, I will rise again in the morning, as I have done faithfully for you, and move on. And what we have lost is something that cannot be known anywhere else.

I once had someone tell me I shouldn't care so much, that I should just get over the loss of love. And now those words are echoed by you. And I will get over it, but not because I cared too much, because you have made it quite clear that you did not care enough. 

There's no room in this world for men like me, and it is in no small part due to how terrible some are at writing endings. So I will begrudgingly accept my loss, along with the knowledge that I have been fooled by my own belief that love remained sacred. That our love was true. No, now I must cope with the knowledge that you may not have meant a word of it, and that is the greatest pain I have ever had to suffer.