Romance and Practicality

I am a pretty hopeless romantic. I try to hide it from the general public, preferring to appear as nonchalant as possible. In secret, though, I read impossible love stories, bathe in romantic comedies as often as possible, and dream silly dreams about being swept off my feet and living happily ever after.

It's amazing to me that I still have this romanticism at my age with my history. I should be bitter by now. I should have shirked this part of me a long time ago. For whatever reason, I haven't. The thing is though, as romantic as I am, as much as I want that part of me in charge, practicality always wins. Always.

As of right now, it's been 58 hours since I've talked to him. I broke it off. It was my decision. I sat in the driver's seat as he sat in the passenger's side and told him I couldn't do it. I walked away at a time when he probably needed me to stay; because I want more. I was disappointed in him for not being able to transcend the crap that is swirling around his head to at least care for me a little. I pat on the back here, a peck on the lips there, a smile for later. But he couldn't. He is just too tired, too overwhelmed, too buried in the stuff of life right now. And now I'm disappointed in myself for once again bowing to my practicality instead of believing more deeply in romanticism and sticking to see if we could make it through.

This is the right decision for me (for us) right now. It is. I'm not confused about that. But I still hate it. Because he's been away for most of our relationship's lifetime, I've not gone more than 24 hours without speaking to him on the phone for 3 and a half months. About 100 days of never missing a day. And now, nothing. Nothing for almost three days. Three days that have felt longer than those 100. By a mile.

The even worse part of this is the strength of my feelings for him. I've walked away from plenty of people before. But not one who I loved. Not one who I believed might make a good partner. Now I have. It's a horrible experience.

I am pretty sure he won't read this. Perhaps he will, though, since the post below this is about him and music. If he does, I'm not sure what he'll think. He's got a lot of pride. That's something I respect in him, because I don't have any. I also think it's a weakness, though. Pride can keep someone from getting what they really want. I think he knows how I feel and that this decision was painful for me. (The crying for the 30 minute car ride to the bus station may have tipped him off if he wasn't already clear.)

The practical side of me is already tired of being sad and is ready to move on. The romantic side of me is pathetically wishing that he'd call and tell me he needs some time, but wants to try again once he's worked through some things. Since he's completely in charge of the outcome, there's not a whole lot I can do about it. So I'm enjoying the sunshine and feeling young and reminding myself how much I learned about myself over the past 4 months of being with him.

Facts are though: I miss him.