Previously…

I’m now lost in the way the paper on which the words were printed captured the rich texture and feel of natural linen.  How elegant it was similar to a finely woven cloth.  I let the pad of my index finger trace Bette’s name in the first paragraph.

It smudged.  Probably because of the sheen of sweat coating my hands if not my entire body given the enormity of the impact of what was happening.

It was odd how the strangest things reminded me of our relationship.  Like this paper, once elegant, now marked imperfect with the smudge of the affair.   My brow furrows as a thought passes. 

It dawns on me it’s only now I can think it.  The benefit of hindsight given time that passed allowing me to distance from the anger, rejection, hurt and devastation.  At least enough for me to ask now, it can’t have just been Bette’s affair that befell us could it?  Why did it happen?  Something or things would have been precursors. 

Perhaps not as extreme as having an affair but what damning evidence of culpability lay squarely on my shoulders?

Were my fingerprints on the smudge of our relationship too?

—

So there it is.  No relationship is perfect.  That’s certainly not a covert reality.  Everyone’s ‘endowed’ with flaws regardless of assent to ownership or even knowledge at times.  Even so, how willing people are to embrace and generously share them, often without one’s approval or forethought.

All the same, hurtful even when wielded without malicious intent.  Blemishes to our character, painfully enhanced when things end. 

Bette and I weren’t immune to our faults – individually or as a couple.  We fell victim to ignoring our weaknesses, again separately and as a unit, over time.  Work got in the way. Life got in the way.  Our lives we meant to and should have shared with each other weren’t. 

Silence flourished between us.  We forgot to involve each other in our lives. 

Case in point her almost obsessive and compulsive dedication to her job.  I admire her perfectionist standards but why not ease the compelled lack of defect? 

Seemingly emphasized ten-fold when I quit my job with her solitary focus invading our personal space, overwhelming our lack of time together.