I was sitting in Bar Louie surrounded by my college roommates. Despite living in the same city, getting us in the same room at the same time is typically reserved for weddings and funerals but there we were. Laughing and gossiping and trading life philosophies like it was 10 years prior in Timken House Two at Wilberforce University.
I knew what was coming. The dreaded “What’s up with you and Such-and-Such?” I was five days off the break-up and ready to stop talking about it. When you’re playing catch up with your oldest and dearest friends, not talking about it isn’t an option. Especially when you’re the Confirmed Bachelorette of the group and the fact that you’d been in a committed relationship at all was shocking.
“That’s over,” I answered.
“You know, it just wasn’t working anymore.”
I wanted to leave it there, but four pairs of eyes bore into me with curious glances. My free-spirited mumbo-jumbo about letting relationships run their course wouldn’t fly. I told them what they wanted to hear; the analysis and the blaming and eye-rolls. As I spoke, I was reminded once more why I hate the “boyfriend-girlfriend” thing.
It’s such a limited take on human connection.
Sometimes you’re great together–the conversations flow, the sex is earth-shattering, you respect each other’s goals and dreams–and it still ends. We grow apart. Life takes us in different directions. Our needs change.
You shouldn’t question if you ever had a chance with ’em
The better question is did you enjoy the dance with ’em
– Pusha T, “40 Acres.”
I don’t want to have boyfriends/ex-boyfriends. I don’t want to soak every ending in analysis and blame. I want dope, interesting connections–flirtation, friendship, sex, some long-term arrangement that doesn’t fit into a neat little box. Men with whom I can always have insightful conversations with no ulterior motives involved.
I don’t want to call every ending a failure.
Sometimes, it’s just over. And that is okay.