He was overwhelmed with a sense of dread. Lost. Vulnerable. Afraid—not just of losing her, but of the inevitable end he couldn’t shake from his mind. So he did what he always did when fear took over: he put up walls. He distanced himself, pushed her away. It was excruciating.
He didn’t fully understand why he cycled through these patterns. Maybe he knew he relied on her too much, and deep down, he felt that wasn’t fair to her. He knew it hurt her. But still, the instinct for self-preservation won out.
His love for her was unwavering—perhaps that was the very cause of his fear. He felt like he was free-falling, with no safe place to land. And so he began to overthink, as he often did, creating conflict where none existed. The pushing and pulling—what was at the root of it? She had done nothing wrong. She was kind, loving, and patient with him. She had a quiet strength, a graceful independence, and a vulnerability he adored.
He loved her—there was no doubt. So why this behavior? Even he didn’t fully understand it. His own actions confused him.
Where was the irritation coming from? Was it the frustration of knowing there was something truly beautiful and real within reach—but feeling like he couldn’t have it? Was it the weight of being trapped in a passionless marriage? The guilt? The longing?
So why, then, was he pushing away one of the best things in his life?
These feelings made him physically sick. He had been nauseous all morning, overwhelmed by emotion and uncertainty. Not knowing what else to do, he wrote it all down—in third person, no less. Another strange habit. But maybe it helped him gain perspective.
All he knew was that he hated the way he was feeling. Hated the way he was acting. It didn’t feel like him. Not the real him.
The Hopeless Romantic
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