I wore Adidas shorts and a Nike t-shirt the other day, hoping that you could somehow sense I was doing it and message me from an ocean away, telling me how I shouldn’t wear two different sports brands in the same outfit.
You found annoyance when people committed that act, almost like a sin, and I would’ve used that to start a conversation.
Someone asked if I knew you today and a part of me wanted to walk away without answering but the more dominant part of me replied with, “Yeah, I used to.” And that’s the thing. I used to know who you were.
The days of warm blankets and holding hands in the car are gone and to some extent, sometimes I feel like they never happened. Those days were too good.
Sometimes I find myself hoping you never happened either.
I hate how people constantly ask if I’m okay. Am I supposed to be waking up crying? These days, I’m too bitter to cry.
However, I DID cry when his mouth didn’t taste like your’s.
I should feel bad for him, but I don’t.
I ran to my car when reality sank in and I drove the way you used to take me home. I hate driving that direction, but it brought me the conversations I’ll never get back and for a second I didn’t feel so alone. I was supposed to be okay with moving on. I was supposed to move on. That’s what you wanted of me and I couldn’t even do that.
I’m learning though. I drove past the local gun shop and I didn’t even turn my head to look. I went into Starbucks and I didn’t even linger at the place you held my hand and talked to your best friend about me over the smell of vanilla and hazelnut.
I go to the park often to run out my frustrations, but I refuse to sit at the picnic table we sat at almost a year ago. When you told me that maybe I shouldn’t wait for you.
But I did. I waited.
I guess I could thank the Marine Corps for teaching me the most important lesson I’ve learned thus far.
Like I said, I’m still learning. Our pictures are packed up and replaced. For a few weeks there, all I did was put the frame face-down and thought that would solve my problems but I found myself lifting it up every morning and I just couldn’t do it anymore.
It’s not that I got rid of you. I’m just learning to become strong without the thought you interrupting me every damn day.
Our conversations are stupid. Short and stupid. About things I talk to a stranger about. School, work, the weather, the family. Small talk. But I’ve accepted that I won’t get another “thinking about you” message. I should be grateful I’m even getting a message but I’m not. I’m not grateful.
Your messages are just ways of making me feel content with us not quite being an us anymore. What a fucking reminder.
Sometimes I wonder if you read all of my letters. The ones I wrote to lift your head during tough times. The ones I wrote when our relationship was getting rocky and the distance was getting the best of us. The ones I put my emotions into and thought that maybe you’d read them and remember why. A part of me hopes you threw them out. A part of me wants to take them all back but the other part of me wants you to keep everything.
Maybe I am putting all my focus into work and school.
But maybe that’s what I should have been doing for a long time anyway.
This is me letting go.