Dear Big Love,
It’s 1 am and I can’t sleep. I’ve really struggled to get over you. Even now, a year on, I don’t think I’ve managed it yet. You created a cavern in my heart that is so deep that even new love with another man – a good man – hasn’t filled it. I gave you everything. I even moved to the other side of the world for you. I did that because you promised me you’d make sure I got home okay if it all went wrong. You promised my mother that, too. How could you have done what you did at the end of our relationship? How could you have blanked me like that? Did you care that little about me that walking out and never seeing me again was preferable to sticking around and saying goodbye one last time? I had to move back to the other side of the world, Big Love. It wasn’t just down the road.
You acted so cold. The coldest man I’ve ever met. You were so mean, so nasty, so miserable … so different from that wonderful man I met and then fell in love with. That man was a joyful and carefree one, so happy and glad to be alive. You feel apart. Just like we fell apart. I definitely know I fell apart and for that, I’m sorry. I will always be sorry.
Did I destroy us? Or was it you? I know that we did, collectively. We well and truly destroyed it. We sucked every ounce of happiness out of something that was once so great, but I still felt like you were “the one”. I still think that now, a little. Maybe I’ll always think like that? We had the potential to be something so amazing. Our love story was one that could literally conquer the world … because we were conquering the world. One country at a time, one continent at a time, even one war at a time.
I re-read those letters you wrote for me and sent to me. Do you remember when you were still in the war zone and I’d already gone home? I still have all of those letters. That was real love, what we had. It wasn’t fake. It was angry and passions and bubbled right at the surface, ready to explode with love or lust or anger at any given opportunity. Yours was the kind of love that I could only dream of. Like Carrie had with Big in Sex and the City. That’s why you’re my Big Love: you were my Big. You are my Big.
I hate how much you changed. But every time I remember that you changed – and how – I’m reminded of the good things too. Because there were so many good times and memories. You always made me smile. For every bad, there was good. For every low, there was high. Do you remember when you took me to the outdoor skating rink in the middle of the night? I hated ice skating and could never find my balance. I wanted so badly to make you smile. To make you love me again. So, I went. I skated. I fell over and got frustrated and even cried because I was so bad at it, and I spent more time on my ass than I did on my feet. But together, we had a great night. Picking me up, pulling me around … it was lovely. Wonderful. Magical, almost. Like something out of a movie. Especially when you dragged me into the soft snowbank at the side and kissed me. It felt like a glimmer of hope in a sea of darkness. It had been so bleak before that night, but then you kissed me like that. Again. For the first time in a long time.
Moments like that are what kept us alive for so long, don’t you think? Those beautiful moments of absolute bliss in between the torture and torment. Bad days followed by good, followed by bad, followed by good.
I know that we’re not going to get back together. You seem perfectly happy with your new girl (yes, I’ve stalked and seen), and I genuinely hope you’re happy and that it all works out for you. I hope you look back over our time and smile, thinking about me as passionately and fondly as I think about you. We can’t talk now. It’s too painful for me. Maybe it is for you too? But one day, I hope that we can be friends. I hope that we can look back over our time and laugh. Because those times were funny — and they were because of you. I got pushed out of that plane because of YOU. I went to that beautiful waterfall because of YOU. I saw that mama and black bear in the wild because of YOU. And I definitely don’t want to erase you. Not even the bad parts of you.
I don’t even hate that you were right. Didn’t you warn me that you’d get antsy and weird around the two-year mark? I didn’t believe you. I thought I could change you, fix you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t.
But I’ll never be sorry for you.