The end of love
The end of love should be a big event. Have you read that Sophie Hannah poem? I first read it years ago but it’s annoyingly appropriate now.
“The end of love should be a big event.
It should involve the hiring of a hall.
Better than the unquestioning descent
Into the trap of silence, than the crawl
From visible to hidden, door to wall.”
I agree. That just seems too cruel, too coated in shame. As if everything that came before the end is tainted and invalidated by it’s ultimate demise. In some cases that’s easier and I understand that. In the past I have found it cathartic to delete all trace, pull up the drawbridge and move on with my head held high.
Not this time though.
The end of this love doesn’t invalidate anything, and I refuse to feel shame or regret. It’s not a failing on either of our parts, not really. If anything it’s brave, it’s making the hard choice for the sake of growth. And whilst I know that there are many stages of grief to get through and that at some points I will feel angry and betrayed, I know that ultimately this love will always have been worth it.
So this is me hiring a hall. This is me making the end of my love a big event.
The ending of my love took place where it all began, back in a bedroom that hadn’t been mine for months. The fact that we were there at all should have been a clue. We’d come full circle. It was in the room where we’d fallen in love, sat on a bed we’d shared more times that I can count, that just as unexpectedly and abruptly as it began, it ended.
Well it hasn’t ended just yet, has it. That’s the cruelest thing about love. It comes quickly but it leaves oh so slowly, even when you want it gone. It takes time, and time’s a healer as everyone knows deep down. But God don’t we wish it healed faster?
Sometimes it’s right person wrong time.
Sometimes the growth we need to achieve as individuals is too great and too hard to achieve whilst in a couple.
And sometimes, they’re not actually your person at all. And that’s ok, or it will be eventually. Right now you don’t realise this, and that’s ok too.
So as you may have guessed this means no room tours of my new flat, because alas it’s not mine anymore. Thankfully I’ve been able to move back into my old girly flat (you’ve seen the pics but it already looks different). I’m going to take some time to drink all the tea (and let’s face it, wine), cry all the tears, listen to all the angry/sad songs oh hi Alanis Morissette (God my Spotfy year in review is gonna be depressing!), and then make a new plan.
Because right now I have absolutely no idea what I do next. And that’s terrifying, but aren’t all the best things?
And to my (now ex) love if you’re reading this. There’s no anger or bitterness from me, though I can’t guarantee that there won’t be sometimes (#sorrynotsorry). I understand your reasons even if I don’t like them and I truly hope you grow and find your happy. Thank you for the most beautiful, amazing, love-filled chapter that I will never ever regret. Oh, and please don’t kill any of the plant babies in your custody.
Love, Sarah x