For Gaga_slave
Right from the start
You were a thief, you stole my heart
And I, your willing victim
I let you see the parts of me, that weren't all that pretty
And with every touch you fixed them
Now you've been talking in your sleep oh oh
Things you never say to me oh oh
Tell me that you've had enough
Of our love, our love
How do you pinpoint the moment where it all fell apart? You can ask yourself if it was a specific instance, something tangible, or rather a slow unraveling, so discreet and so subtle that you don't even notice.
Sometimes, it's simpler to reason if you just fall out of love. As awful as it feels, at least it constitutes an explanation. It's within a person's grasp to understand.
But maybe the real problem lie in the fact we did love each other. We loved each other so much that letting go seemed like an impossibility. And we were both as stubborn as hell, clinging on for dear life.
"You don't talk to me anymore, Bradley, you don't communicate with me. How am I supposed to be in this?"
The look in her eyes, those beautiful eyes that made me fall deeply in love with her, it kills me. But I don't have an answer. No concrete one, anyway.
I know I have this tendency to shut down when things are difficult, to push people away. I've always been like that, my whole life... lowered my head and soldiered on.
It had never been like that for us. We were as forthcoming with each other as two humans could be and I'm an open book. I don't shy away from talking about my past, the mistakes I'd made and neither does she. It's probably why she loves so fiercely; she bares her entire heart, puts it all on the line.
I hate that I'm hurting her. I don't mean to...she's the person I love, someone I respect and admire. She's my go-to for advice, she's my sounding board, she's my everything.
The last thing I ever expected was to push her away. Things had been a whirlwind for months, circumstances that were beyond our control. My mother not doing well, being apart for films and touring. Co-parenting with Irina and going back and forth about where we were going to live permanently and the pressure of keeping our relationship private. Everything had begun to add up, taking its toll, and while we weren't really fighting, we weren't discussing anything either.
The silence felt tremendously awful.
I go on packing, trying to choose my words carefully. I'm leaving for a shoot in France tomorrow and she's staying here for business and it already feels as though there's an ocean between us, so what's actual distance at this point?
"I know it's me, too," Stefani sits directly on the bed, shoving my suitcase aside. There are dark smudges under her eyes and the guilt tears at me. "I know I push you to talk, but it's fucking killing me. We used to never shut up. Do you remember? And we fought so hard for us, B. So, why are we just throwing it away?"
She's angry and sad and hurt and I wish I could stop myself from being like this. It's not fair to her. We've pulled through before. I have to ask myself how many times we can spring back from the way I go rogue when I'm under stress, when we're under stress. How many times can I put her through this?
I can't speak. I can't do much but cradle my head in my hands and I feel her move closer. Her arm around me is almost hesitant and it obliterates my already aching heart.
"Are you not in love with me anymore? Because if you aren't, just tell me. It'll fucking destroy me, but nothing hurts worse than this right now. Because it feels like we're strangers."
