Sparks Fly

Sparks can fly (metaphorically speaking) in any situation of passion. Passion isn’t exclusive to love, lust and other delights but also those other more negative connotations. I have passionately hated situations I’ve found myself in throughout my life, yet I can honestly say I’ve never truly passionately hated any living person. For me when sparks fly, I like to think that spark smoulders for the shortest of time and the remaining embers can be quickly extinguished.

Which is all well and good when it comes to my temper flaring up, I’m happy for it to flare and fade in an instant and even happier still when I’m able to forget or laugh at my behaviour. What I’m not so great with is when those happy sparks fade, when I’m left feeling cold and put out when all I want to feel is warm and content.

I could no longer pretend that everything between Megan and I was Ok. I had my own problems indeed, but I wasn’t so negligent of Megan to notice that something had changed between us too. I was struggling still with work, I was struggling with my own self-improvement. I had stopped doing things like going running, going to the gym or going out with my friends in town.

On the one hand I was happy to be settled at home with Megan but in truth we were anything but settled. We grated on each other, each of us wanting more from the other, each of us not truly understanding the value we each put in what we were asking for.

When Megan asked for more help around the house I thought it a mere trivial matter to get so upset about, something so easily remedied that I didn’t give it much notice. When I voiced my concerns about the growing lack of affection between us Megan claimed not to have noticed a difference. Which I must admit hurt almost as much as noticing the attentions were missing in the first place.

I was yet still determined not to let my past experiences dominate what we had. I didn’t want to ever be found guilty of imagining a problem to exist where there wasn’t one. Sure some of the behaviours might be similar to what I had experienced in relationships past, but that didn’t mean that the motivations behind them were the same, right? I owed it to Megan to give her the chance to hear how I was feeling and if she cared enough, like I was sure she would, things would get better.

We both managed to express a regret about not really feeling like we were dating anymore. Those days had really been the happiest we had spent together. Nothing could ever sour our spirits when we had been together, not getting caught in the rain or having no money. In those early days we were determined to use each other up and get as much enjoyment out of each other as possible. If even a fraction of that could be reinvigorated I would have been ecstatic.

We both knew and acknowledged something to be lacking. Megan began to point out that I seemed to be becoming increasingly stressed, I had let everything get on top of me all at once that I genuinely couldn’t figure out what was eating away at me. I couldn’t tell whether it was our floundering relationship, my struggles and work or my general frustrations with my own motivation. All I knew was that I was increasingly unhappy with every passing day.

I wanted to begin to fix what was going wrong between us, I genuinely felt that would be the first and easiest step to take. I thought that just by letting Megan know how I was feeling that it would be enough for her to snap out of this funk she had been in with me. After all, if she had come to me with a problem, anything at all that I could fix that could possibly make her happy where she had been unhappy, if it were in my power to do it I would.

I had pointed out to Megan that we weren’t as affectionate anymore, we didn’t seem to kiss each other as often, we seemed to seek out separate activities of an evening together and we didn’t spend any quality time together out of the house. We both agreed to try and remedy this and start planning more exciting and engaging things to do together.

Since Brighton had been such a great diversion I thought it stood a chance as a viable plan to improve on each¬†of our happiness at the time. Although it soon became apparent that I wasn’t the only one feeling the stresses of every day life. When I had questioned Megan about the seemingly abrupt change of nature towards me she had confessed to feeling depressed herself.

Megan had battled with depression so far throughout her adult life. During our time together she had been determined not to let it come between us. Maybe I never truly comprehended just how much effort she exerted to choose to be happy in those moments we shared together, maybe it wasn’t always difficult for her. I thought I knew about depression pretty well from having been a witness to it most of my life.

Firstly London was blamed for her depression, the feeling of never truly seeing the Sky as all the buildings are piled either high or in clusters so that open space is a luxury not often found. Even the many parks are often lined with sprawling streets and the bustle of the city’s public transport. It was a lot to get used to when you came from the country.

Then it was suggested that perhaps we each spent too much time together. I could agree with that. Megan had stopped going out with her colleagues and I didn’t quite understand why. I encouraged her again to do so and promised more respite from London by planning more visits home to see our families. If it helped, we could spend time apart while I visited my parents and my brother and his wife while she visited hers.

We had a plan to work on us, I was willing to give it a try and happy to have spoken about how I was feeling. It was settled I’d help more around the house, we’d go on more dates together and we’d spend more time on ourselves and visiting home. Every thing was perfectly manageable and in return we should start to appreciate each other more. Only time would tell if the sparks would ever fly for us again.


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