'Tis Better

"'Tis better to have loved and lost ..."

The words crash like tidal waves against the inside of my skull, over and over. They roil the turbid waters beneath my mind's dark sky. They soak everything and drown rationality. And then as each wave recedes, it drags conscious thought out to a watery grave. My feelings swim against the current, struggling to get to safety, to form something coherent and make their way onto this page before the burst of salty water comes crashing down again.

Do you remember the first time you said you loved me? I do. Crickets chirped and fireflies speckled the air. My arms were covered in goosebumps at the unseasonable chill. As we stood beneath the star-filled sky, you leaned in for a kiss and whispered those three magical words. Suddenly, my heart glowed and the chill was gone. I couldn't stop smiling, but I didn't say a word. You noticed, I know, but you didn't complain. Part of me desperately wanted to say it as well, but I didn't want it to just be a reaction. I wanted to make sure I was saying it because I meant it, and not because I felt obligated by your words. Finally, a few days later, I said it too, and everything felt right in the world.

Do you remember the last time you said you loved me? I don't. Of course there have been times when I said it first, and you replied due to that deep-embedded sense of obligation. But when was the last time it wasn't a reaction? When was the last time your heart still felt that warm glow for me?

"'Tis better to have loved and lost ..."

The maelstrom churns and the gale hurls those words at me again. They take over, working to destroy everything in their path. Salty tears leak from my eyes as though the words' waves are too powerful to stay trapped within the confines of my mind. I dry my face and try to dam off the mental storm by focusing on anything other than that phrase. My efforts are all in vain as the wall of water repeats its assault.

Once upon a time, you used to love when I'd watch your band play. I'd stand in the front row, cheering at the end of each song. You'd beam down at me, knowing I was your biggest fan. Now, my applause is met with eyerolls. Afterwards, you tell me through gritted teeth that my behavior is embarrassing. Your bandmates turn away, pretending not to see my heart shattering. Over the years, I'd thought that they had become my friends too, but the way they avoid my gaze just wounds me that much deeper.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost ..."

The waves pummel the sand and cover it with salt-encrusted flotsam. Unbidden memories – broken bits of driftwood thrown on land by the raging sea – tumble through my brain. They fall haphazardly, a jumbled mess. I try to piece them back together, to save each one. It doesn't take long until the next wave drags them away to disappear below the dark waters.

So many years ago, you used to write me poetry. You'd write about me, about our life, about your hopes for our future. Your beautiful words flowed freely. You'd grin as you watched me read the pages. You'd wrap your arms around me as my happy tears began to fall.

These days though? Your eyes land on the box where I've stored all those old bits of prose, and you cringe. The regret is apparent on your face. My falling tears are no longer happy, and your arms no longer cradle me.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost ..."

The words rumble like thunder. They come again, roaring and howling along the wind, over the crashing waves. Lightning tears through the clouds and lights up the world. For a moment, I can almost see the outer borders of the storm. But then, the flash fades and the gloom takes over once more.

Where once you lit up when I came in the room, you now make excuses to leave my presence. Now, you flinch when I touch you. You avoid my gaze, ignore my words.

But some days, your walls fall away. You forget your contempt and we laugh together. Your anger vanishes and you hold me close, whispering all the right words. Those days give me the tiniest flash of hope: maybe it's not too late for us.

Before long, though, you remember. Your walls are rebuilt and my mental storm comes alive again too.

I think that's what makes this so hard. If there were only hate, I could pull myself away.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost ..."

Each time the water crashes down, it erodes the shoreline beneath my feet. I try to grab hold, but the sand slips through my fingers. Where I once felt safe, the ground turns to quicksand and refuses to let me flee toward refuge.

We used to talk for hours. About everything. Our hopes and dreams, the future, our favorite movies. We'd make up stories about what it would be like to travel through the galaxy and what aliens might look like. We'd both giggle like children as one of us dreamed up a creature more absurd than the last. Now you'll barely tell me what you want for dinner.

Did you change? Did I? Maybe we're simply two broken people, incapable of sustaining a relationship.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost ..."

Those words echo again. The squall threatens to break me into a million pieces. Drenched and terrified, I shiver.

Where did we go wrong? The change came so slowly that looking back over the years, I can't tell where it began.

Maybe somewhere along the way, I set loose this same tumultuous tsunami in your mind as well. I wish, more than anything, that we could turn back time. If only we could go back and fix things before they went so horribly astray.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost ..."

But some days, though, the stormy sea rages, and I wish I'd never loved you at all.