Where did the love go?

These weekends are getting more dangerous for me as nostalgia overwhelmes me while I skim over the pictures. There are pictures of her and me at Starbucks in Ottawa. It was a time when we had not known what was to come. All we knew was that we could finally be together. We packed her things up in just one trip in a big, green Chevy Astro Van. We spent our final days there taking pictures of everything that reminded us of the good times. The places we'd miss, the people we'd leave behind.

Glen Ave. was where we met over five years ago. Perhaps there was something about that street that held us together through the worst times. It was a quiet neighbourhood that gave a sense of comfort and security with every child playing in the streets. Trees filled the sky when we took our morning walks. People actually greeted each other with great consideration and friendliness.

She seemed happy most of the time, but her eyes told me she was tired through the whole ordeal of moving. If it took so much effort and energy in such an activity, then it would definitely be easier to fix what was going on in the past five months, right?

This is what continues to baffle me. It's not about the reasons - they actually tell me very little about our broken relationship. It's about the intent - or the lack thereof that troubles me.

For the six years we've been together, one would think that fixing our troubles along the way would be easier than to go through the entire process of finding another person to be with, learn their idiosyncracies and deal with them, and then build up enough courage to dedicate themselves to a new partner. It takes so much more effort to have someone new.

I sometimes (but presently do) still wish for things to be the way they were. Fixing our problems wouldn't have been all that hard. And no, I'm not naive, and yes, I am an optimist. I know there's a small part of me that wishes for things to be better between us. Seeing the pictures reminds me of how good it was and how good it still can be.

Perhaps we should have stayed in Ottawa. Things would have definitely been different. But alas, the economic situation there is dire, and making a living would have been next to non-existent. Maybe we would of at least had a life together.

I know in my heart, that I still love her, despite all the craziness between us. I feel like a fool to momentarily push them aside, to forget all the complications we've caused each other.

Right now, I'm crying. I'm sorry. I simply don't care about any of these stupid things. And quite frankly, I don't care about how hard it is.

All I know now, is whom I love. And I must release it.

It's been two full months now. I'm not complaining. Don't call it complaining. Don't call it whining. You are so callous to think of it in those ways - so inhumane. I'm letting my thoughts flow - the more it comes out, the more sane I will be. It's not getting any easier. The book seems to do little for me. I've reverted back to a state of Elizabethan discord. In my mind, my clothes are tattered and in disarray. I've walked through the moors of England for a thousand years in my bare feet. I've finally emerged from the thick, lingering fog and into a territory unknown to me. And it's all just white, empty space.

Now, where do I go?