I was doing so well. New job, back home, seeing a bunch of people I haven’t seen in a while - many of whom didn’t even know I had moved back. I had to explain to them, over and over, briefer and briefer, that it hadn’t worked out with Her so that’s why I’m back here. Paying way more in rent for a place I need more than I want, because now it’s Big Boy time in Whistler. And aren’t I so happy to be back.
Then Christmas happened. And I was given genuine homemade love by longtime friends. And then I heard Fairytale in New York - thankfully when I was at home. (Hozier did an incredible cover on Saturday Night Live)
And I suddenly realized how far I was from good. Knowing - objectively - that she ruined my life on a whim because - subjectively - it didn’t feel like I suit her life anymore, but not being able to stop missing her because she loves Christmas, and everywhere plays her favourite fucking Christmas carol.
Knowing that I didn’t do enough at the time, but not seeing the point in fixing any of it now that she’s already gone. Knowing that even though her moving here meant she wouldn’t be around her people, she was more than happy to move me away from my people - the difference being, my people in a small town were more accepting of her than hers in the city ever would be of me.
Because to them, I was just another guy trying to make it in the most boring city I’ve lived in. Sorry Vancouver - try harder. You’re not special, and you’d think your terrible weather 8 months of the year would inspire you to have a better social scene. .
When you stress glass almost to breaking point, you may not see any damage but the cracks have started. Only when it slips out of your hand and falls an inch and a half to the countertop does the damage become apparent, all over the kitchen.
Tonight, the cracks showed themselves. But I didn’t know who to reach out to catch me.