The other side of the story.
I always wonder about this – I know how I perceived the situation, but know that the very same event, looked at from another point of view, is a very different sotry. It’s only natural – there’s the truth, the actual occurrance of events, and then there’s the perception of said events. And herein lies the disparity.
Pride often takes center stage in a breakup. Either party may want to contact the other, but hubris mixed with insecurity often prevents it. So things remain unsaid and that incongruence in perceived reality not only remains, but grows. Instead of sitting down and talking through everything, we over-analyze and consult our friends, and after days turn into weeks turn into months, something that once was so promising ends up as “he threw in the towel” and “she’s crazy”, monikers that – after years have passed and you run into each other at a restaurant with your new partners – will be the one sentence explanation of your acquaintance. It’s a shame, really – this compartmentalizing and over-generalization negates the way that holding his hand made you feel like a part of something or the easy laughter of the day in the sun, only to be replaced by three-word labels.
And so what remains unsaid is the nail in the proverbial coffin, the point of no return. Later on is just too late to revisit – you’ve both moved on, the unsaid should remain as such. The beginning of a new chapter resolutely marks the end of the one that precedes it, and while that’s not always bad, it’s a shame that it’s partially due to a self-mandated silence, the very silence that contains the other side of the story.