For a very long time, I wondered how this would end. Would there be a dramatic climax? Or would love just slowly and quietly die from lack of tending?
It’s hard to even know what to call it anymore. It hasn’t been a relationship for a long time. It was a hope. Fondest dream. Futile faith in what a love might be? Fantasy, maybe?
Of all the things I imagined for seven years or so, I never imagined that it could end as sour grapes. But now that the hurt of lost love has faded into vague resentment instead, I can’t help but think, “I wouldn’t have wanted her anyway.”
I laugh bitterly at myself and wonder whether I tried to fool myself for years or if I’ve been trying to fool myself more recently. I’m not sure I would know when I’ve been most honest with myself — then or now — much less what was really best for all involved.
All I can do is point to Aesop’s fable called, “The Fox and the Grapes.” Do you remember the story?

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