A sleepy and hungover day. I drank entirely too much at the department party last night, and may or may not have danced to New Order before one of my colleagues took pity on me and drove me home.
Between pints, I learned of two break-ups that occurred this fall. The first was as bad as they come: sudden, evasive, and painfully revisionist. When she told me that it was as if he had never loved her at all, I nodded in sombre recognition.
The second was different. Together, they set a date that would mark their transition from being lovers to close companions, which has since passed. He called it their new anniversary, which affirms the bond they still share. I recognized something in that too.
I’ve never believed that relationships have to come to a full stop, and I like being reminded that sometimes they don’t. These feel to me like truer loves than the other kind, which seem fickle by comparison, and unnecessarily cruel.
When I think of it this way, I realize that my longest relationship was not with Phil, but with C. And that, in the end, it was the better one.