So Michael showed up at my apartment this afternoon, bearing two dozen red sunflowers (smart boy for remembering I’m not a big fan of roses) and an apology. And while the gesture was appreciated, it was too little too late. At this point I think he could have offered me the keys to his new Boxster and I don’t think it would have made any difference. (Sure, I would have gone ahead and let him sign the title over to me before telling him to leave. I’m not a complete idiot ;) I’m done playing these games with him. I’m not a trusting person to begin with and after this little incident, I don’t trust him anymore; can’t let myself trust him anymore. It’s kinda sad, but I guess it’s the way things were meant to be. Michael and I are proof that sometimes people who on the surface look like they should be together, in reality have no business being together. We should have made each other very happy and instead just ended up making each other miserable. As much as we had in common, and as well as we got along most of the time, things should have been great, but apparently Fate had other plans for us. I don’t know why that is. I’ve learned not to question the grand plans of the cosmos. I just now know for sure that Michael is not the person I’m supposed to be with. In a fucked up way I’m kinda relieved. My life has been nuts for the past few months and Michael was a large part of that craziness. Maybe now things can get back to what pass for normal in my world. I do want to clarify that I don’t hate Michael for this. We all do stupid things that we have to learn to live with the consequences of. He’s not a bad person and I don’t regret for a second trying to make this relationship work. We had some great times together and we can definitely say we went out with a bang. We just weren’t meant to be. I want him to be happy and I do truly hope that he finds what it is he’s looking for.
"There can be no piece of mind in love, since the advantage one has secured is never anything but a fresh starting-point for future desires." -- Marcel Proust
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