In the beginning she always told me I was perfect. If I was honest, like she always begged me to be, I'd have told her being faultless is exhausting and the real me was beginning to show through the cracks of this facade I was no longer able to keep intact. Unfortunately, I've never been heartless enough to be forthright and share these ulcerating truths. Lying is the most noble act I can ever seem to manage.
Before I go any further, there are a few things you should probably know.
1. I am not a good person.
2. I am a coward.
3. It doesn't take long to realize, "I'm sorry", are just words and they become
unable to mend wounds or broken trust.
None of this is easy for me. Right now, I'm watching her sleep and I know I'll never stop loving her. When things are good we shine, but those moments are growing infrequent and lacking in sincerity. I've fought myself on this for months and it's become the second battle I've no hope of winning. Without telling her, I've been putting all of my extra cash into a separate savings account. I write a check for half of it and place it into an envelope on my pillow. This will pay for my half of the bills until our lease is up in two months so finances won't be added to all the heartache I'm about to put her through.
After dressing in the dark I kneel down by her side and stroke her hair. The only time I'm allowed to do this is when she's asleep and I look past the tragedy of the moment in order to smile in its beauty.
"I love you more than anything." I whisper into deaf ears. "I just wish loving you was easier than leaving." Then I kiss her forehead and nothing registers until I hear the sound of the deadbolt and I'm walking to my car, which is already packed and ready for my retreat.
Once behind the wheel, with the engine awakening from its slumber, it's time for the next phase of my horrible plan: running as far away as possible.