This is from me writing an account about moving on.
Tonight, I discovered the electrical kit I?d loaned her, left on my doorstep. No note.
I texted her to say thank you and that I was sorry to have missed her.
Her reply came simply: an apology for not returning it sooner.
I asked myself?did she ring the doorbell? Or just drop it and walk away?
She didn?t reply when I asked.
To me, that silence feels like closure.
A quiet goodbye.
Even so, I still intended to ask for forgiveness?and perhaps a final act of kindness. She once mentioned needing help repairing a table. If she'll let me, I?ll do that.
And then, another shift.
I visited her home to drop off a few things?small gifts I?d picked up for her, now no longer needed by me.
I rang the bell. Just as I turned to leave, she answered and invited me inside.
But the person who opened the door wasn?t the Greek girl I remembered.
She wore track pants, no makeup. The house was cold?no heating.
Even on my worst days, I try not to look untidy. But that day, she looked... tired.
Worn thin, defeated.
The dining table was cluttered with her new computer and the scattered pages of her writing.
A picture of a woman trying to hold everything together.
Maybe that?s what we?re all doing in our own way.
Just trying to hold on.
Final Conversations
We sat down, and I asked the question I had been circling for weeks: Are we done? I needed a clear answer?some finality.
We talked it through. She repeated things she'd said before?words that still cut deeply. I asked her not to keep shredding me, and instead to see me as a whole person, to recognize my good points.
I kept my voice quiet, my tone gentle, trying to soften the moment. I wasn?t asking her to make a decision right then. I only asked for the chance to prove I could simply be a friend.
That I could let go of wanting more.
She?s read my book but hasn?t understood that when I say I?ll do something?I mean it.
I keep my word.
Looking back, I believe we first connected because I was ?different.? She wanted a girlfriend, and I now understand I could never fully be that. Though she always said she saw me as a person, the idea of a ?girlfriend? still lingered. Eventually, she saw me as I am?someone presenting as female, but still shaped by a lifetime of being perceived as male.
She never wanted a male friend?certainly not a partner.
She told me she?s a ?fixer??someone who, in past relationships, took on others? problems and emotional weight. She?s tired of that. She saw me as another project. That explains her reaction when I said she wasn?t responsible for my wellbeing?it struck a nerve.
But in our own ways, maybe we?re both fixers.
I tried to support her, to be caring, attentive?and, yes, loving. But I sought to understand her in a way that came off clumsy, even invasive. She told me, ?Women don?t do that.? Yet many women I?ve known do.
Go figure.
During the conversation, I felt her retreat into resignation. Her replies turned mechanical, like she just wanted to get it over with.
So I changed tack.
I offered to do one last thing?help her repair the table. I told her I could cut the piece of wood she needed at my home and drop it back, no contact.
At first, she refused, saying it would feel like using me.
I disagreed?I was offering. No strings.
We agreed to part for a while.
I walked away with a weight lifted from my shoulders, not because we were back on track, but because I finally had closure.
I was walking away for good.
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