It hit me just now that tonight would have been our fifth anniversary. That it has been five whole years since I my offer to share a bag of grapes with you at work turned into the deepest love I’ve experienced. I’ve tried to find a replacement, but I haven’t.
I wish our first date hadn’t been to a Halloween party. Halloween in my favorite holiday and maybe if our date had just been some stupid, random day in April, it would be more forgettable, but it wasn’t.
Maybe if that first date hadn’t been so perfectly awkward, or hadn’t rolled over into a second day, I wouldn’t be remembering that this is probably the fifth anniversary of falling in love with you, but I do.
Nothing between was ever conventional or simple, but it was always easy. I loved you irrevocably, through anything and everything you tossed my way. I would have spent my life loving you that way if you had only loved me back in the same fashion, but you didn’t.
I loved you long after it was convenient. When you told me about her, and I felt everything I knew about our shared life shatter, I loved you. I tried to stop loving you and be just your friend like you asked, but I couldn’t.
Now I realize it has been years since we even spoke, and longer since things were good between us. Time passed so slowly at first, when I was grieving the loss of you, and then so quickly once I adjusted to life without you. I’ve told myself I was over you, but I’m not.
I wish you hadn’t been my other half during my first years of true adulthood, because now those memories are all of you. Every first as an independent woman was with you. When I tell stories about my past, you populate every one. I try to leave you out, but I can’t.
I don’t know what your new life is. I don’t know who you are in your world I don’t visit. I’ll never know if you miss me the same way, or if you think of our old inside jokes. I don’t know what has kept you from ever reaching out to me, or I don’t want to know. I think of how I know so many ways to contact you: of how easy it would be to send a message, but how hard it would be to find the words. I could say hello, apologize, scream, cry, beg you for another chance, demand answers, demand attention, anything that might fill the void in my life your lack of presence left behind, but I won’t.
My late-night musings about my ex that came out in a fashion very similar to my middle school poetry angst.