Of Two People Who Stop

There’s this distance that has been growing between us.

In my experience, it’s the passage time and fear of the truth, conspiring to hold our tongues mute. A story so overplayed that it has become cliche to this world. As I write these words, the cynic in me is even driven to roll it’s eyes at the pedestrian nature of our demise.

A tale as old as coupling, an ancient archetype for relationship lost.

Distance. That label we slap on, like dressing to a deep wound, is a far too simple and apathetic description of what we are suffering.

The pain is in the little things. The short answers. The distractions. The self-medication from a plethora of common vices and uncommon virtues.

Distance is emotional shock. A way for the heart to slowly hide from the constant loneliness of two people who stop.

Who stop.

Who stop talking with the wild dreams and ideas of freeborn children.

Who stop touching with the passionate curiosity new fire.

Who stop believing that love still exists.

We can slide through days and months on the starved existence until a crack in the facade becomes the calving of a mammoth glacier.

When distance becomes parting.

Some find the long path back, stepping lightly and with intention through the rough crags of damaged hearts and shared responsibility. They are few.

I fear we are not that. We are cliche, mundane, all too human.

Our fragile, stubborn, sad nature will cause the ice to splinter and shatter, like so many before us and after.

And we will be left with a self-fulfilling prophecy foretold by our distance.

 

 

2 thoughts on “Of Two People Who Stop

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