For What It’s Worth

A relationship, I think, is like a shark. You know? It has to constantly move forward or it dies. And I think what we got on our hands is a dead shark.

I never quite envisioned my life going the same route as “Annie Hall” did. I mean, I knew things were different — something was incessantly jabbing the very foundation of what our relationship was founded upon: caring for one another. I would be lying if I said I didn’t think it was fixable, but as John Lennon once stated, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” Maybe that was the problem, in essence. A different period of her life began and I wasn’t meant to be a part of it.

I think that’s what hurts the most.

Or perhaps it’s the I’m-so-content attitude I am sensing. The fact that I just wasn’t enough — my presence and my voice — in terms of bettering the situation … I guess that says something about me. I’m just not good enough to keep a good thing going, at least not right now. I always thought it was irrational and, frankly, immature to point fingers at who was the culprit for the collapse of a relationship. The bond is broken, a bond consists of multiple parties, so as far as I see it, we are both to blame. It’s just my personality to take heed and accept that it probably was more my fault in the long run.

The last few months were the worst, though. They were just so … odd. There was everything going on which was perpetuating to the grand finale, a.k.a. the culmination of a relationship which had reached its course and had nowhere to go but sink into oblivion; a distant memory on the coast of the Atlantic where our dreams used to be. It felt like a facade at some points, but I didn’t even care. I still enjoyed her company and still wanted to hold her as she fell asleep at 11 pm on a Friday night. Even when she said we were through months ago, I replied with, “How could that be?” I knew we had tough times and things could have gone either way, but some instances just make it so much worse in the end. We went on a date just two weeks prior to the final wound being split open; we also attended a wedding together and still took naps together in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. The boiling point was reached before I anticipated, but it’s my fault in the end for pretending I wasn’t part of reality. Now I’m left to pick up the pieces of my life while she blows away like a feather in the breeze. I feel like I’m living through a James Taylor song.

But maybe it’s not all bad. It can’t be forever … can it? It’s harder right now than I ever expected, and I was never one to believe in fate and certain signs turning a relationship. Albeit, I did believe some things associated with her. The story of how we met was almost too good to be true, or maybe it was because I was so young to logically compute what was taking place. It was like … a movie script.

It’s funny. I was the one who first introduced her to “Annie Hall.” I remember telling her it was a comedic love story, but I didn’t tell her that the movie ends in such solemn fashion that it makes you want to rip the proverbial knife out of your own chest. Now I know how Alvy Singer felt. I know because I am Alvy Singer.


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