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From Our Readers: For Us, It Was Always Two
You told me about your deepest fear, I told you mine.
ART Trixie Ison

For us, it was always two.

Two years of almost sleepless nights, talking about cartoons from the '90s. About your deep fascination with stars and the planets. About Mark Twain, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Ernest Hemingway. About how we see our future selves back when we were younger. There were nights spent on listening to your favorite songs, and reading lines from my favorite books. We went to places that reminded us of our childhood. We’ve counted our scars and told each other their stories. We’ve opened up ourselves and let our souls be seen. You told me about your deepest fear, I told you mine.

It took two years for us to know each other like no one else does. Two years to realize that what we feel is bigger and deeper than what we thought it was.

Then came the first of January, 2002. It was two hours after the clock struck twelve when you came to my house with a box of pizza and two Big Macs. We climbed up to the roof, had some beer, ate the burgers, and watched the rest of the town celebrate the new year. I was telling you about how dogs must have hate New Years when you stopped me mid-sentence and poured your heart out. You told me how much I meant to you and that there is no other right time to say it but in that moment. I looked at you, smiled, and felt a tear roll down my cheek. And since then, every day felt like a Sunday—warm, easy, happy.

I looked at you, smiled, and felt a tear roll down my cheek. And since then, every day felt like a Sunday—warm, easy, happy.

We spent two weeks in every month escaping the hustle and bustle of the city. Punk rock bands from the 90′s, Kodaline, and bands we never heard of before, were the soundtracks to our long drives. We drove to where the crystal clear waters and white sand beaches are. There were weekends when we hiked to the peaks of the mountains we’ve dreamed of conquering. Sometimes we go with friends who felt like family. We rode boats and airplanes, travelling from one island to another. We were never short on adventures.

Then came October 2, 2004. After two years of being together, we decided to move in to a lofty apartment in the city. We were on the right path with our careers and we were happy. Everything felt right. But like any other good thing, it didn’t last for long.

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Two years of living together, things started to change. We fought every chance we had. We argued over things that I couldn’t quite remember anymore. Maybe it was about the bills we had to pay? The grocery budget? The overtimes at work? I don’t know. All I could remember vividly was that one night, after a terrible fight, you drank a glass of wine and said two words, “I’m done.”

I pleaded for another chance to piece back whatever is left of us. We both tried and we struggled. In the end, all that's left was two.

Two people drifting apart. Tell me, how do I heal this broken heart?

Pearl Therese Aton, Blogger and Photographer at thwanderingdreamer.tumblr.com. Got feels, too? Submit your story here!

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