We were together since I finished university and were living in south London for five years. Our friends lived nearby and mostly it was an easy, happy, fun life. Like many couples we had comfortable routines of falling asleep together on the sofa and pottering around markets, pubs and parks at the weekend. We looked after each other and our days together were intimate and relaxed.
I adored the familiarity of our lives; hearing you get home from work and feeling you cuddle up to my back as I cooked dinner. I didn’t know at the time but I think it all left you feeling unfulfilled.
After months of discussion and spreadsheets calculating what we could afford, we had an offer on a small but perfect flat with exposed brick walls and a skylight in the bedroom. It was scary but exciting and it felt right.
Then you left me. It was a Saturday morning. I had just taken a call from the estate agent while you dozed next to me in bed. I woke you and dressed in a new pair of trousers (which I have not been able to wear since), and we popped out on our bikes. On the way back, we stopped for coffee and I realised that something was wrong. You were sad. I reacted to your mood angrily and made us go home. That’s when you told me you couldn’t “do this any more”.
My world fell apart. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening and it all happened so quickly. You went to your brother’s, then your mother’s. We talked and cried and talked and cried some more and when I realised there was nowhere else to go with the conversations or the tears, I found somewhere else to live.
My life has changed in so many ways. I met new friends. I skied for the first time in six years (you never wanted to go skiing with me). I stopped eating meat every dinner time. I learned how to fix punctures on my bike by myself. I took control of my finances. And, most surprisingly and happily, I started to cherish the love and light in others around me more, including my family, who have supported me so much.
My world has become richer but I want you to know that one year on, I still grieve and it still hurts more than I could have imagined. I wish you had been able to talk to me about how you were feeling. I wish you had been able to prepare me in some way for what was about to happen – that we weren’t going to wake up in that bedroom with the skylight, weren’t going to have the family I dreamed of having with you and weren’t going to watch the sun rise over the beach in Sri Lanka in February as we had planned.
I look back now with more clarity. You were restless. You weren’t ready to settle down and you didn’t know how to tell me.
A year has passed and I heard a few months ago from our friends that you are seeing someone else. While I cannot wish you luck as yet, I hope for both of your sakes you have learned to talk to her honestly and openly.
Anonymous
