'and i thought... well, you could still do it. if he wants it and... but i guess you don't.'
no, i don't. and i don't think he wants it, either. i think he's feeling sad and alone, but he knows we can't be together.
'but you did once and it was okay - you said you loved each other - and you could just pretend it was like it was then.'
we might be able to do that, if we were other people. there are a lot of differences between him and me, in the way we think about love and family and work. we were always different, from the time we met, but we thought that wasn't important, or maybe each of us thought we could make the other one act the way we wanted. which is pretty silly, when you think about it - why would somebody who'd been one way for twenty-one or twenty-six years, and probably thought that was an okay way to be, suddenly switch over and be different?
that doesn't mean that one of us has a good way and the other a bad way, it just means we have different ways. when we were together, after awhile, it was like trying to attach one of my lego pieces to a toy car - it wouldn't work because they aren't made to go together. they're fine when they're apart, but not when they're together.
'you could use some wire and tie the lego piece to the car.'
I ache for her tenacity.
it might work, until the car hits some rough spots. that's what happens to people. they try to tie things together and sometimes it works pretty well but when something rough happens that makes them nervous or worried or afraid, then the ties they've used tend to pull apart. it's not -
'they could make new ones.'
they try that. but usually they pull apart, too. it's not that they aren't trying. it's just that they have a lot of things to worry about at once, and the things that aren't good and solid from the beginning are the ones that can't weather the storms.