A Meditation on Burning
I did it again.
I ruined another relationship.
I keep doing it, by virtue of unrealistic expectations. Or maybe just fear. My fear. I’m afraid of commitment, I guess.
Or, maybe, I’m just not a very good person. This is probably closer to the truth.
I’m erratic. I swing from stability to insecurity in a matter of milliseconds.
I’ve been feeling neglected. She even brought it up a few weeks back, saying in a sickly sweet voice: I’ve been neglecting my baby . . . .
I said: no, of course not, but secretly, I agreed.
If you ask me to trust my intuitions, I will say this:
She’s right — she has been neglecting me, sending nothing more than a platitude in the morning, nothing all day while she works, and then a few more platitudes in the evening before bed.
My intuition says this was a planned retreat.
My intuition says she wanted out.
Nobody wants to be the bad guy. Nobody wants to be the cause of a relationship’s demise.
It’s much easier to be the good guy, the one with the legitimate grievance.
It’s better to be less at fault.
