The Roses

When we got married, we were each given a rose. The guy said some words about being a couple and how we are tied together, but still two seperate people. And we put the roses together and he tied them with a ribbon. These roses have always been on display in our house. Not always so gently with the care they deserve- but they are always visible. The idea behind it was to use the roses as a reminder when thing got tough, or to use them as a signal to the other person when one of us was struggling. Separate the roses as a way to show the other person that 'there is a problem' and we need to work at getting them back together. We never did untie the roses. Not once.

Next week we will have been married 7 years. Today, he told me that he doesn't love me anymore. Now I already told him that I was moving out. That I could no longer remain in this marriage. But I never said, "I don't love you." It was never about the fact that I don't love him. I really don't know if I do. I don't know if you truly CAN love someone for whom you hold so much anger and resentment. Regardless, I would never say that to him. I think it's unnecessary and hurtful and the only reason you would come out and say that to someone is if you had the intention to hurt them. And it did hurt.

I don't know if I have written in the blog that I do not love him anymore. It's just not that simple. I love him because he is the father of my children. I love him because there was a time, a very long time ago- that my heart skipped a beat when he walked in the room. There was a time when I really didn't think I could live without him. Maybe those thoughts were misguided, and maybe they were the desperate cries of a co-dependent needing her own emotional 'fix'- but they were my feelings, no matter how unhealthy and misplaced they may have been. I simply can't stay in this marriage any longer- because the love that I do have for him, is simply not enough to tolerate everything else. It's diluted with resentment and anger and bleeding out every time I open my mouth to talk to him. I'm just tired of hurting. I'm exhausted from it. I just want to move forward. Pack up my boys and leave this life behind. There is no use in talking about what went wrong. Everything went wrong. EVERY THING.

So I sit here, feeling quite beat up from the entire conversation we had, looking up at "The Roses." Sticking out of a magazine box. They are dusty. The ribbon is dirty, but still tied.

Neglected. Ignored. Forgotten.

I don't think I will untie them when I move out. I don't need that kind of a gesture.

The fact that the roses that represent our 7 year marriage are dusty, held together by a dirty ribbon, and carelessly shoved in a box is symbolic enough.