A broken man read me a list yesterday. A list of why we would fail.
Reasons why I might one day sit, broken, and read some other man a
list. He said everything he could to make me turn away. He was
desperate. It was the end of the line, and it was killing him.

But when he said what he could, and he asked me, in that broken voice,
barely above a whisper, why I would be with her knowing all of these
things: my answer seemed clear, and simple.

“Because I’ve fallen in love with her, and I won’t trade that good, for
some good less tangable, less understood, and less discovered.”

All the potential for pain, all the involved risk: it doesn’t matter.
There was nothing he could say that would stop me from returning to
her. What we have is good. Really good.

And my apology to all those who might disagree is this: would you have done something different if you were in my shoes?

On days like today I wish I was a poet, so that my words would have the
eloquence to describe my heart. But instead the harshness and
inadequacy of my language keeps a steady vigil against my communication.

Like trying to describe the myriad of feeling effected on me when I
tell her her eyes are pretty, and she turns her head, slightly
embarrassed. Or the way one of us can say a thing with such veiled
meaning and emotion in it, afraid to let the whole of it out, that the real meaning of it seems to float
about like a substance, until the other, with fearless knowledge of
the first's heart: plucks it, and says it aloud. And how that whole
exchange makes me so happy, satisfied, and comforted every time.

Polly Sci with Ron is shaping up to be steller. I'm excited. Now all I need is that $80 text. Maybe I'll see if it's on amazon.

I feel like I've been holding my breath for damn near a month, with
only a few precious moments to breath. But somehow I know we've passed
the climax for real this time, and it'll get better from here.

Through a wide smile, and shinning eyes she said to me: "What's meant
to happen will happen, right? It will all work itself out in the end."
And though those words stilled me because of the pain I knew to be
hidden in their assumption, I couldn’t bring myself to end her hope, so
I said nothing.

But the next night, through a broken voice, and tear streamed eyes she
said to me: "I thought it would be easy, I though whatever was meant to
happen would happen, but everything is hard, everything I can do is
hard." And I held her more tightly and said through tears of my own:
"I’m sorry. I should have told you. Things will work out for good in
the end, but that end is often far, far away. For now, we just have to
do what’s right: it's all we can do."

So we broke up. She is going to tell Rob what happened. She'll go back
to Rob if he'll take her. She broke up with him for me, despite all the
excuses we chose to believe instead. It wasn't right. What should have
happened was what we decided when we were still just holding hands
during a scary movie: that she needed to be honest with Rob, and that
we needed to end things. It's a million times harder now. We love each
other now.

I made her a promise though. I told her I would never let anything
happen between us again unless it was right. And I didn't make it
lightly. My friends, I would ask you for guidance on this point. For
both our sakes I need to make anything from now on be right.

The more you have, the more you have to lose. The reality of this is
killing me, because daily I gain, and daily my sence of doom grows. And
yet, can I really stop gaining for fear of the loss? I would be a
coward to do so. But fighting against the loss is getting harder and
harder. I win one victory, and something else weights down harder to
take it's place. And her face, her touch, her voice, she is the only
thing that can lift the weight on my chest. But for each moment I feel
safe, each moment I can make her feel safe, we raise the gain, and
raise the loss: and the saddness in her eyes always comes back. That is
why last night was the first time I've been away from her for more then
a few miniuts since friday, and when I find her in a couple of hours,
we'll hold each other for comfort. We need each other, and yet, we're
hurting ourselves.

Pray for me, because I'm not going down without a fight.

There are a million thoughts racing around in my head, but I'm to hung-over to catch them.

A quote for your enjoyment:

I thought that Alcohol was just for those with nothing else to do


I thought that drinking just to get drunk was a waste of precious booze


But now I know that there's a time and there's a place where I can choose


To walk the fine line between self-control and self-abuse
- Alcohol by The Barenaked Ladies