High and Low

   I guess it was inevitable; nothing stays perfect.  We preserved it remarkably well though, and I think we deserve credit for that.
   Oh, there were obstacles and there were certainly mistakes.  We've had confrontations, disagreements that have escalated into silence.  But so short-lived, so few and far between!  And so easily left behind when finished. Practically immediate returns to our sweet, mutual bliss!
   And somehow we completely disintegrated, my Bobby McGee and I, through unfortunate twists of fate and alternating stubbornness. It's effortlessly functional when it's right because of our compatibility. We are so alike in all the right ways. Our love of adventure, of salvaging other people's refuse for our own repurposing, finding excitement in the most mundane tasks, staying up all night talking as our souls fill the air surrounding us, connecting and growing. Our respect for each other was only matched by our affection for and appreciation of one another. And there was such an easiness, a comfort in looking at you and seeing a reflection of myself. A completeness. We laid on couches together and designed our futures like the insides of houses, details draping beautifully like custom made window dressings, every so often making slight adjustments to maintain balance and symmetry. We chose songs wedding songs, planned out children's schedules. Our dreams were the same, with our hopes and fears so frequently lined up. 
   I can't believe we've stayed so off-measure for so long. We'd been in perfect tune for so long, I never saw it coming. I'm not sure how to get our song back in key. I'm not sure where to begin, or if I'm capable of it. If we both decided it was worth it, we'd have a chance. But we can't get it right.
   As similar as we are in the right ways, we are too much the same in the wrong ways. Our stubbornness, insensitivity, coldness and defensive detachment are harsh and merciless. We collide bleakly. I don't see our future anymore. I lost sight of it. I don't know if I can get it back. I don't even know if I want to. Not because I don't want us to be us anymore, because I do. I just don't know if I can handle the work required to rebuild us. And will we ever be the same, anyway?
   I have a habit of letting go the instant things turn sour. That way, when the bad taste fades, all the memories are intact, are sweet, are perfect. And every time I convince myself it's worth it and work up the courage to make an effort, you disengage. I know this is a reaction to my detachment. I'm sorry. I'm trying to overcome it. 
   I just don't really know. I don't know a thing. I do not know a goddamn thing.