a broken engagement
He supposes he should be grateful to her; after all, if she hadn't called off the wedding, they might be on their way to an unfulfilling life where he loved her exponentially more than she could ever love him.
Right?
Because the fact is this: He always loved her more than she could ever love him. And it's true what they say, love is never equal. One person will always (always) love more. And he was happy being that person; she deserves that level of devotion; she deserves that kind of commitment. And she seemed to agree up until 13 hours ago.
Thirteen.
Unlucky number 13.
If she hadn't confronted him on the eve of their wedding, he would have continued assuming that she was happy and sated. But no amount of love he feels for her will ever be enough. No matter how fiercely committed he remained to her, it never measured up. The imbalance was too great and she felt the enormity of it all on her slender tan shoulders.
She knew, much sooner than he did, that they would be unhappy. She would never grow to love him as fiercely and determinedly as he loved her; she never could because that level of affection and admiration and respect and dedication and love -- all-consuming, time elapsing, gratifying love -- was something she felt for someone else.
Her.
It would be easy for him to loathe the woman who so easily wooed his love, but he can't bring himself to despise even her shadow. He's always protected and cared for her, his sister.
And he'll be the first to admit that the entire ordeal seems fit for Jerry Springer. He'll be the first to admit that the level of dysfunction in his life is disconcerting. He's a man of routine and organization and precision and order. This was a wrench he never could have dreamed up.
For his high school sweetheart, a woman he'd loved the moment he'd seen her gap-toothed smile so many years before, to harbour such ardent feelings for his kid sister was never meant to happen. Had life played out the way he'd planned, he'd wed his longtime love and she'd grow to love him as passionately and ardently as he loves her.
But all this line of thinking does is anger him. He should be the one getting the happy ending. He'll be the first to admit that he's being selfish and unkind, but he can't help but think that the hero (in this case him) always gets the girl in the end. And if that's the case, shouldn't he win her?
And it appears that he never did learn his lesson: that women aren't prizes to be fought over and won. That they're not accessories in a man's unfulfilled life. That it's not a woman's job to make her partner feel stronger and more assured. And that is why he'll die alone.
Right?
Because the fact is this: He always loved her more than she could ever love him. And it's true what they say, love is never equal. One person will always (always) love more. And he was happy being that person; she deserves that level of devotion; she deserves that kind of commitment. And she seemed to agree up until 13 hours ago.
Thirteen.
Unlucky number 13.
If she hadn't confronted him on the eve of their wedding, he would have continued assuming that she was happy and sated. But no amount of love he feels for her will ever be enough. No matter how fiercely committed he remained to her, it never measured up. The imbalance was too great and she felt the enormity of it all on her slender tan shoulders.
She knew, much sooner than he did, that they would be unhappy. She would never grow to love him as fiercely and determinedly as he loved her; she never could because that level of affection and admiration and respect and dedication and love -- all-consuming, time elapsing, gratifying love -- was something she felt for someone else.
Her.
It would be easy for him to loathe the woman who so easily wooed his love, but he can't bring himself to despise even her shadow. He's always protected and cared for her, his sister.
And he'll be the first to admit that the entire ordeal seems fit for Jerry Springer. He'll be the first to admit that the level of dysfunction in his life is disconcerting. He's a man of routine and organization and precision and order. This was a wrench he never could have dreamed up.
For his high school sweetheart, a woman he'd loved the moment he'd seen her gap-toothed smile so many years before, to harbour such ardent feelings for his kid sister was never meant to happen. Had life played out the way he'd planned, he'd wed his longtime love and she'd grow to love him as passionately and ardently as he loves her.
But all this line of thinking does is anger him. He should be the one getting the happy ending. He'll be the first to admit that he's being selfish and unkind, but he can't help but think that the hero (in this case him) always gets the girl in the end. And if that's the case, shouldn't he win her?
And it appears that he never did learn his lesson: that women aren't prizes to be fought over and won. That they're not accessories in a man's unfulfilled life. That it's not a woman's job to make her partner feel stronger and more assured. And that is why he'll die alone.
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