Top five reasons why lifesavers are not so sweet.

5. Jolly ranchers are much sweeter.
4. If you're doing the saving, who's going to save you?
3. We don't all fit into that little ring in the center.
2. You should be able to save yourself.
1. In the selfless act of saving, you could lose your life.

Not to sound nihilistic or anything, but I've been trying to save H's life for years and it's not getting anywhere, so I might as well just give up. I mean, I don't want to give up on him - I love him and care about him more than any pair of shoes. I think by give up, I mean I'm going to give up my lifesaving attempts. I know his habits will always be an issue with me, but I realize now that I can't really save him from that. In fact, I don't even know how to save him from that, even if he wanted to be saved.

We function well on cold nights, when bodies need each other to stay warm. I don't think it's too healthy, but I can't seem to make a clean break from him. Rational minds and good friends warn me, advise me that I need to distance myself from H, and I listen to their solid arguments, yet I refuse to listen to my own logic and reason. There is still a part of me wishing that he will change. Maybe he'll really throw away those lighters. Maybe he'll actually study for class. Maybe he'll want more out of life, instead of focusing on the partying and the drinking and the drugs. Maybe pigs fly. Maybe I actually am that naive.

It isn't as easy as I thought. To say goodbye to four years: four years of love and fighting, but probably only one year of chocolate and flowers. My philosophy on true love at present is that even after the honeymoon stage, you'll still have that overwhelming feeling you felt during the first kiss. It may not be as often, or as long, or as strong - but it will be there. It will come in small outbursts, natural, low-key, laid back moments that mean much more than the extravagant displays of affection during those first few months. Because honestly, you don't need the extravagance - just the thought. And right now, H and I are not having any of those moments, actually not for some time now.

It becomes this ritual with me, a ritual of "next times." Maybe next time, he'll say something sweet. Maybe next time, he'll bring me a lily. Maybe next time, I won't be the one who's trying so hard to make things work. The problem with the ritual is if it doesn't happen that time, then you'll expect, anticipate, hope and wish that it will happen next time. And once you begin this ritual, it gets really hard breaking out of the cycle, because of all the constant hoping.

I am really at this crossroads with him.
Maybe I should just go to him...

...and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And (I)'ll begin to wonder why (I) came

How to Save a Life - The Fray

I'm scared of the response, if I actually tell him that my feelings for him have changed so much. Honestly, I was able to picture a house with him in it, children running around the both of us, taxes, and grocery shopping, and minivans, and home renovations, and sharing the bathroom and everything imaginable within middle class domesticity. But now, I can't even remember what color the house was, or if he was even in it. I don't picture a future with him. Just a few seconds ago, I thought the hard part would be telling him that - but I think the hard part is actually realizing that for myself. I guess it's not so much that I'm afraid to hurt him, I'm more afraid of letting him go.