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I made a mistake (Part III)

Last of a three part series... read Part I here and Part II here...

I felt the first tear fall down my face before I realized what she was saying. How could she say that after all that has happened? I sat quietly and heard her ask. “Did you hear me?”

Again my voice broke when I replied, “yes.” I stared at the darkness in my room and thought about what to say but nothing came. I managed to say wow, but wished I could say more.

We talked some more that night but I am not sure I heard anything after that, and have no idea what I told her. Over the next month we talked daily, once again our conversations were superficial, although we decided that we needed to see each other.

Thinking back, I believe we both felt that the connection was still there and we needed to test the waters. Although I had no idea if it was the right thing to do, giving our past.

The plan was made, a weekend camping trip to Vermont. Nothing was promised and nothing was expected, just some time to get away and clear our heads.

A full eight months after the devastating day, where I left my heart on the road to the dunes we were planning a weekend away. I had already moved out of my brother’s place and was living in a house with four guys that all had some sort of failed relationship.

We would joke about how we ended up finding each other, but we all had our issues. We had never met before but were thrown together in this house to become friends. And I could see that they wanted to stop me from seeing her again but did not know me well enough to do anything but say, “I am asking for it.”

None of that mattered, “I knew I was asking for it,” but I also knew that I had been broken before and was happier now. I was prepared somewhat for what could happen. I had not built up any walls but I was stronger than that night.

The butterflies had returned once again, in anticipation of seeing her that afternoon.

She was going to meet me, and we would get in the car together and go camping.

I tried to be calm about it but my feelings were all over the place. Time seemed to slow as the moment approached, work, traffic, my mind all moved slowly.

Watching from my window, I could see the car turn the corner and a lump grew in my throat. She was here and I could not wait to see here, but I needed to be calm, collected. Showing how pleased I was for her coming, but not seem over eager, or appear desperate.

I walked out of the house and down the path as she pulled into the parking space near the road. She waved and flipped her hair the way that I always remember and loved. I could now see her eyes light up as she reached for the door handle and stepped out and back into my life.

My mind searched for the perfect thing to say. My emotions took over, what did I actually feel, am I still angry, would I forgive her, am I still in love after mending my broken heart? I found a few words, as I approached her car and looked down at her. My heart was pounding in my chest and I could not even hear her replies to my questions.

I wanted to touch her to make sure she was really there, but instead I walked over and looked at her face. Her eyes caught mine and we stared at each other. The moment lasted a few seconds but felt like it had been years. She was the first to look away, but I had already sensed it, the love was still there.

Comments

  1. Whooow boy.

    This is a lot to digest.

    *hugs*
    ~vk~

    ReplyDelete
  2. Love doesn't die overnight...

    ReplyDelete
  3. This series is very difficult to read. The pain is palpable but so is the love.

    ReplyDelete
  4. this is hard for me to read, hits close to home. The feelings of being hurt and then giving 2nd chances.

    but still want to hear how it all turns out. : )

    ReplyDelete
  5. I know we have all been through it at least once. Sometimes the pain of coming back is just as great as the loss, I think there is always that feeling that she (or he) may make another "mistake" and hurt us again.

    Guard your heart.

    ReplyDelete
  6. This comment has been removed by the author.

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