Years of trying to balance the love I wanted and the love he gave ended in a whimper, not a bang The conversation happened at a time when we were still trying to “work it out.” As if the failures of a two-decade relationship were little more than a stubborn stain requiring a bit more soap and scrubbing. We sat at “my” table in the apartment I had moved into in an act of separation. I had made a pot of steaming chamomile tea. He was a guest in my home. It was a strange dynamic between two adults who had known each other since before they’d been allowed to drive...