The Girl, Part Two

Phil was everything to me. But he blew it. I hope he knows that, now. He didn't understand at first, but I hope he's come to realise it. He wasn't able to give me what I needed. He was neglectful as a boyfriend for the last six months we were together; he never used to be like that but he changed. When he moved back home, to Lancaster, he became distant. He didn't seem to care about me. If I called him, he often didn't answer. If I left a message he rarely got back to me. When I texted him it took him hours, sometimes days to respond.

I began to get the impression I was no longer important to him. It frightened me initially, but after a time I began to accept he was just not good enough for me. I'm a woman—I'm not a stereotype, but I need to feel loved. I need to feel like I matter. He seemed to assume that I knew how he felt and that he didn't need to ever tell me. The thing is, women DO need that. I knew he loved me, but I needed to hear him say it sometimes, even just once. And he didn't.

It was Valentine's weekend and we had arranged to see each other in Birmingham because I couldn't spare the time to come up to see him. He hired a car and drove down, and we stayed in a hotel so we could spend some time alone together. I imagined it to be really lovely and romantic. I hadn't seen him since Christmas. I was looking forward to it. I wasn't expecting a lot but I thought he might at least have got me a card. He hadn't. He turned up and he seemed cold. I still don't know why. We went to see a play but he treated me more like a friend than his long-term girlfriend. I wanted to feel his love, I wanted to feel how much he'd missed me. I wanted him to tell me how much he'd missed me, to wrap his arms around me and envelop me in a hug that would close the space between us. But he didn't. And I felt so disconnected from him; he was like a stranger. Even when we made love that evening back in the hotel room I felt something was absent. It wasn't the same. I felt a horrible sensation of detachment from the man I wanted to be closest to. I felt cheap; as though I were giving myself to him for nothing, that it meant nothing to him. I felt almost ashamed; like I'd made him travel down here to see me, that he didn't really want to be with me. There was something missing between us—no—not missing; lost. Something vital had been lost. The spark, the chemistry—whatever you want to call it. It had evaporated. I felt nothing but sadness.

I told him in the morning, after a sleepless night beside him, listening to him breathing. I used to love that. I used to love watching him sleep, the regular rise and fall of his chest, the little noises he made, the way he shifted positions on the mattress, the way his lips parted ever so slightly and he looked so vulnerable, so innocent. He was the stillest I'd ever seen him whilst he slept—in wakefulness he was often fidgeting, an idiosyncratic agitation I liked to joke was down to an excessive consumption of caffeine. But in sleep he was still, and I liked to imagine his dreams as I gazed fondly upon his closed eyelids, which occasionally fluttered gently like the wings of a butterfly. That night, as I lay propped up on one elbow next to him, watching him sleeping, feeling his warm breath on my cheek, I cried. I cried because I knew I had no choice but to let him go before it got unbearable. I knew I was losing him; to distance, to geography, to ambition and vocational commitment. I knew beyond all doubt I was no longer capable of sustaining the bond we once had. I couldn't sleep because I knew I had to tell him and I knew how hard it would be, yet simultaneously how unavoidable it was.

Phil—I told you I didn't love you. I thought I meant it. I made myself believe it because it was easier than letting you go against my will. The truth is, I do love you. I always will. But we are star-crossed lovers, like Romeo and Juliet, John and Yoko. We are destined to be separated; we are doomed. You were and still are the best friend I ever had and I take that with me, always. But to be in contact with you now would destroy me, as it would destroy you. My future lies here, in the city, as a teacher. Yours is uncertain, but you are going to do great things. That I am sure of. I cannot hold you back. You are too good for mediocrity. You are a caged bird, longing to be free, to spread your wings. I had to set you free. I love you too much to keep you.