The weekend in review: Miserable, awkward silence. Even the car radio turned up couldn't drown it. A series of social outings with friends that I longed to enjoy with him; instead, we experienced them side by side like strangers. Sunday night, our "last night together", our saddest ever. Monday morning, I packed my bags. My plan, which was pretty half-baked, was to camp out at my office until I could find an apartment of my own; I had food and blankets, enough to get me through the next few days when I could return and pick up more. I couldn't think where else to go. I knew that leaving would feel awful, but it felt so much more awful than even I expected. Those last few steps to the door were like walking through cement.
He saved me at the door - pulled me back in and we cried and covered each other's faces with kisses.
Will it be okay? Roses on the table and tearful promises say it will. I'm hopeful. I can't put my faith in anything yet though. If he was anxious and cold-footy before, I know he'll be even more so now, feeling (perhaps even subconsciously) that he was forced into this, that he chose it merely as an alternative to desperate pain. I wish I could fill him up with confidence that the affection we have for one another will be enough to overcome anything. Now there's one for the "What do you believe, but can't prove?" survey.
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