This is The Reality of “Taking A Break” In A Relationship

Over the 4 years of ups and downs, highs and lows, good and bad we’ve been through, you might have noticed that I had never once let those three words you’d been telling me slip out from my mouth.

I admit I was afraid, perhaps too afraid, too terrified by the sound and the effect they might have brought upon us. Even now, after having been through and somehow survived the storms of our relationship, I still find it unsettling and impossible to even whisper the words.

I wasn’t born with a sweet mouth and I’m definitely not the type of women who would add sugar to her words just to please people. I would rather swallow my thoughts than spit them out and not truly mean them.

That being said, if I care about you, if I say you mean a lot to me, I hope my deeds can justify the unspoken words well enough; otherwise, I wouldn’t know how to go about it. I believe sometimes things are better to remain unsaid. And love can be one of them.

However, when today came, it struck me how badly I wanted to share with you the secrets of my heart — what I had longed to say, yet never dared to speak. Do you know?

Well, during the year we parted to figure things out, I’d never been so petrified. Even now, I’m still too stubborn, too proud, to confess how distressed it got me knowing that you were out there, somewhere 3,000 miles away from me, having fun with other women and seemingly taking them to bed.

I didn’t expect that very year to be full of hardship, jealousy, and misunderstanding. We were supposed to step back to that long-forgotten “friend zone” and sort things out from there. We were supposed to replay the best friend roles. But in reality, it wasn’t as easy as it had been before. We failed for the most part, or at least it was me who failed for the most part.

I’ve never told you how torn-up I got when I saw a picture of you kissing another woman less than a month after we split. I didn’t feel angry so much as I was sad. I knew I didn’t have the right to even feel so.

It was true that we were over, or at least temporarily. We were no longer bound to each other nor did we have any privilege to interfere in the other’s personal life. Regardless, I felt jealous.

I was also lying when I told you I needed time to fit you in my life as a lover, not a brother. See, I was the worst liar ever, both to you and to myself.

The game we were playing was so dangerous that it could either damn us both or get us back on the right track. I wasn’t sure which direction we were heading to. One day you cared so much for me and promised me so many things. The next day, you went against what you’d said, and I admit, it hurt like hell.

You became a completely different person, aloof and distant like a goddamned cunning asshole. Yet, now and then, you returned to the caring and selfless man I had always known. Sometimes you would not talk to me for days on end, then all of the sudden you came back and told me everything, every feeling and emotion you were enduring.

What was that game for? If it was meant to punish and make me jealous, then you should know you’d done more than a great job.

I was desperately craving for you, craving for your rich and tuneful voice to tell me the words I started to forget, craving for your smart and witty mouth to caress my hungry lips, or worst, craving for your enticing body against mine. Though, at the same time, I wasn’t sure if I could help being around you, losing my cool, and picking fights over complete nonsense.

More than once, I wasn’t sure the once-a-strong-bond between us would last after we’d broken each other to the core. Still, I knew then and I know now that I should have never run away from you and your love in the first place. I know I’m a contradiction.

A few days ago, I started playing the piano again. With a shocked expression on your face, you asked me, “For all the time we’ve been together, why now?” I didn’t even bother to answer it as I thought you would figure it out sooner or later. But then it seemed like you might never do.

I hadn’t played it for months, possibly for years, maybe since before I met you, maybe since my pride and confidence were shattered by a selfish person who had found me before you and taken that chance to leave me hopeless and betrayed for love and by love.

Thus, before, I would always sit next to you on the bench and watch you play with effortless grace. I didn’t dare to play it, with you or alone because the dark memories associated with it were too unbearable to even try to touch.

You knew I’d had a disastrous relationship when we started dating a few years back. You knew I had an issue with the delicately beautiful piano, and yet, you’ve never pushed me to tell you any of it.

I’m glad you never did. I’m glad I found you. And I’m glad we didn’t fail us.

I left a voice message for you this morning while you were on your way to Los Angeles. By now, you must have listened to it, or maybe not. Regardless, I can tell exactly how you’d react to it.

The message said: “I hope I didn’t sentence us a fate worse than death by saying yes when you asked me to give us another chance. I played the piano for you because I finally feel okay touching it again as much as touching you. Happy Anniversary.”

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