Owning Our Part-Part 5: The Space Between

Some connections aren't meant to last.

After that hug, I thought something had shifted.

And maybe it had. But what followed wasn’t a grand confession or a dramatic turning point. It was silence.

Not complete silence—we exchanged a few texts here and there. Occasional glimpses of warmth. But nothing that matched the electricity of that morning. Nothing that picked up where we left off.

Our interactions became less idyllic than those moments at Farmers Union. They were messier. Clouded by timing and circumstance. The air between us that once felt light and full of possibility began to feel heavy with things left unsaid.

A couple of months later, I accepted a job in another city and made the decision to leave Eugene. It wasn’t sudden, but it still felt abrupt.

Before I left, I emailed Gavin. I told him I was going. And for the first time, I told him how I felt about him—something along the lines of my response when he’d asked me what I wanted, a year earlier.

Yes. Via email.

He responded by calling me naïve, denying that there had ever been anything between us.

I was friends with both Gavin and Laura before they got together. I had even confided in her about the way he made me feel—long before they were a couple. But when I sent that email, they were dating. I never meant to hurt her. I suppose I had convinced myself that Gavin was only with her to get close to me.

Maybe that was self-delusion. Maybe it was wishful thinking. What can I say? I was a hopeless flirt.

Either way, she hasn’t forgiven me. I regret hurting her. I regret misleading myself. But neither of them ever took responsibility for how things played out—and that’s not for me to regret.

I haven’t seen either of them since.

In the past, I've wondered what I’d say if I did. If I’d smile and act like nothing happened. If I’d apologize. If I’d finally ask for the truth. If I'd acknowledge that I wasn't the one who turned out to be impossible to forget.

But these days, I’ve found new wonder.

Because not everything unresolved needs resolution. Some stories just stop.

And some connections—no matter how electric—are meant to burn out before they burn us alive.