Ships

So we finally had the talk. Alot of shit had gone down the past couple weekends. Random infidelity, drunken fights, broken cigarettes; broken hearts. We had to mend ourselves in some way, as the trauma left both of us in a seemingly pitiful state. So we talked. And we talked. We hung out. Then we talked some more. We spoke at our leisure; as things came up. Five hours later, when it was all said and all done, the miscommunication and misconceptions we had for one another were sucked out the window like smoke, it was great. He says he wants to be close friends, that apparently, he couldn't handle the seriousness of the relationship and that it's nothing to do with me. That he doesn't understand himself because he thought this was what he wanted. He seems rather depressed about it.

I was skeptical at first. Obviously. I had a hard time believing that there wasn't something wrong with ME. After talking, I am positive that is not the case. After giving the situation way too much thought and way too much consideration, I decided that I hadn't come this far to lose one of my closest friends, because that's what hurt me the most. The Break. The thought that I'd opened myself up to another--to the tiniest detail--and been rejected. The bond gone; the wound open and bled out. Another void in my life. Yet through this void ripped something perhaps more lovely; petal-pink blossoms grown amidst the thorns.

We may have both tried to rip the relationship apart and we did: but what happened in turn was that we ripped it into a new kind of ship--friendship.

Flawed, but masterfully crafted.