I Let the Love of My Life Go, This is Why

Being madly in love with one man will always be a part of my life. Every time I think of him, the most precious moments of love will be a part of the memory. But with that came more. While love grew, an undeniable ache built itself around our romance. The ache rapidly spread it’s infectious poison, until goodbye was inevitable.

The only place to start is from the beginning.

One day I didn’t know him. The next he stormed into my life, becoming a permanent part of my soul. We were two strangers, perfectly content in the way of our lives, starting a conversation. It was then that I was hooked. He was beautiful and his voice was an inviting sound, drawing me in for more.

Soon he told me he loved me. I smiled up at his sweet face, not speaking a word. I wasn’t scared, something inside me trusted him since the first time I looked at him. Surprised is a more appropriate description of the wave of emotions flooding over me. I didn’t love him back. Not yet, it was too soon.

A few days later he asked me a question. A simple favor I should have considered too far in the future to accept. Without hesitation or second thought, the word ‘yes’ sprung from my mouth. For a moment I wondered if I might be crazy, until I realized I was most definitely in love. It was in the split second, the three letter word that came from my lips, that I realized I’d answer the same had he asked me for anything in the world.

I whispered to him my realization, turning three letters into three words. His eyes looked at me under his dark brow, an unbearably perfect smile on his face as he answered back. I felt the cocoon of every caterpillar in the world break open into butterflies right inside my stomach. In that moment my world was complete.

You can assume the moments that came after weren’t nearly as beautiful. What you don’t know is that they were, which is why I had to let go.

Every minute of the passing days were spent near him. The loneliness that struck without him by my side was answered by having his voice flow through the speaker of my phone. Texting was moot. I needed more. The more time I spent with him, the more I hated the thought of being away.

The weeks turned to months, leaving me sick. I didn’t have a cold, but my mind stopped functioning the way it should have.

There was panic in the seconds he didn’t answer my calls. As my hands shook I waited for his name to show up on my phone. Sometimes just seconds later, still, my stomach clung to the walls of my body in turmoil.

I couldn’t stand being without him. I couldn’t bear not seeing him for even a few hours. Time alone turned into despair as I watched the hours tick by, just so I could hold onto him again.

As time went on, I knew it was getting worse. I was getting worse.

One day, as my trembling fingers punched in his number, my breathe stopped. His voice answered and I let the air from my lungs, crying for him. He couldn’t. Of course I knew that, but I couldn’t stand it. Being without him was tearing me apart.

I had already been diagnosed with anxiety, but the panic attacks were happening far more often now. I was stricken multiple times a day.

He was everything I ever wanted and I couldn’t handle it. I knew then I had to let go.

It was another breathless minute as I punched in the memorized number. He didn’t answer. I cried until he called me back. It was the sweet way he said my name, causing me to forget the reason I had called to begin with. I hung up, making an excuse for why I hadn’t ended it.

When he made his way back to me, I clung to him with my tightest grip, feeling his needy fingers hold my skin. I knew he loved me too, but I couldn’t live like this. I had to tell him that tonight was our last night.

I did tell him.

The clock reminded me of waiting for him. The urge to talk to him was harder to avoid with each tock. I wish I could say it got better after that.

The truth is, it wasn’t the end. I couldn’t resist responding to his messages. I couldn’t resist sending my own. The ache inside me only grew more until I planned to meet him. I found reasons to ask for his help.

He came to my rescue. If he didn’t I was worse. He didn’t know the right answer to helping me, and neither did I.

Our meetings grew further and more far between, until I felt strong enough to let him go for good. I told him so, causing him to ask for another night.

It was a perfect night, still I had the desire to ask for more.

I made up my mind I wouldn’t. I had ended things and hadn’t let go. This time I stuck to my guns. I let go. His messages came fewer and fewer. I messaged him back, firm in in my standing. And I let go.

Letting go was far from easy. I fell in love again. But this time I didn’t give what I gave him. Not my whole soul.

To this day when I hear his name, even belonging to another man, it rattles off my bones. I deleted the voice mails and messages, but I know where they used to be. I often scroll through the past as I reminisce remembering where they once were. Having every line memorized. I hear his voice in my head as they replay themselves back, with a vacancy like no other.

I know it will never go away. It gets easier, but I’ll never forget him. The man that made my heart whole, doesn’t know he took it with him, leaving a permanent scar of angst.