All Conquers Love (Prompt #50)

Twelve months had passed.  This had been a year of harmony for him, an eternity of emotional turbulence for me.  I had, since before the twelve months of our relationship began, had the weight of a huge decision on my shoulders, although it weighed heavier on my mind than anywhere else.  Borderline insanity was creeping in slowly as I tried to pick between my love and my religion.

"I love you."
"And I love you."

He always said it first.  I always said it second.  Behind his words were truth, while behind mine were lies. I didn't know it at the time, but I couldn't love him completely while I was still struggling with the fact that we were so different in our core beliefs.  I thought I meant it when I said I loved him, so I continued to say it.  But dissonance was setting in harder every time.

"I love you."
"And I love you."

See?  It sounds a little different now.  A little more shallow.  I started to tell him how I felt.  How I doubted that we could pull this relationship off, no matter how much we loved each other.  But he was persistent.  We could do it.

"We'll be together always."
"Forever and a half."

I wanted so bad to be convinced.  Could this be more than temporary?  But what is more temporary than a marriage that ends in the tragedy of divorce.  What is it that they say?  Something along the lines of 65% of marriages between two people of different religions ended in divorce.  He was Catholic, and I was not.  But we also weren't 65% of people.  We were us.

"You two are so cute!"
"When's the wedding date?"

Everybody else believed it.  He believed it.

"We'll have a huge backyard, with a miniature train that our kids can play with."
"We'll decorate their little rooms together."

He believed it.  Now I believed it.  We could do this.  He was more important than my religion.  Love was about sacrifice.  But as believing as I would be by Saturday, Sunday came afterward and reality hit again.

"Will you come to church with me?"
"Church just isn't my thing, babe."

The wedge was being driven slowly between us, until one day I finally snapped.

"Why are you crying?"
"I can't do this."

And so our love came to this.  Hateful words ensued as both of our broken hearts tried to heal themselves.  Walls were being built at the speed of light, and I walked away from his house and back into my faith.  Love isn't always as strong in the long run as it seems to be in the here and now, and is apparently easily conquered.

"Please delete my number."
"Don't ever talk to me again."