The way we would walk into the house with the dogs running ahead of us, straight up the stairs to fight over toys as you and I were hit with a wall of sauerkraut and kielbasa, wafting from the crock pot that was always waiting for us. The way the shampoo smelled in the outdoor shower, mixed with saltwater and the aroma of the garden. The way my room smelled of suntan lotion and laundry detergent rising off of the bed sheets. The smell of the car mixed with ocean and sand and wet dog.
I hate that these memories are becoming less tangible to my senses.
The other day, I found something I had written, about you. I remember sitting in the glow of a single lamp, feeling numb with happiness. I wrote:
He has this poster hanging on the wall of his dining room in a glass frame that reflects the light coming from the kitchen. I like to sit in the far corner of his couch and watch his tall, thin silhouette moving from the fridge to the sink. There's something comforting about it.
I find it interesting the different ways that people thumb their cigarettes. He taps his so that just the right amount of small red sparks float delicately to the bottom of the ashtray. I flick. I flick and ashes go flying everywhere, no matter how hard I try to hit the tray. I flick and black specks hit his perfect white sheets while we're lying in his bed.
"Shit, I'm sorry." I say as I anxiously try to clean around me without rubbing black into the fibers of the bedding.
"It's ok, I have to wash these anyway." he says, even though I know he has just cleaned them the day before.
My favorite thing is when we're next to each other in his bed, a pillow each propped messily behind our backs, in the dark. You can't see anything until one of us takes a drag and a small tip of fire illuminates the room and, if we're lucky, a split second of our eyes.
That was one of the last times I remember feeling truly happy about us. Those first 6 months when I couldn't even believe that you had chosen me.
Jil says never to let anyone compromise the way I deal with things. While I know people understand why these past nine months have been hard for me, I don't expect anyone to fully grasp the reasoning behind the fact that it's still as agonizing today as it was on that night in November. If not more so. So I'm just going to keep feeling what I'm feeling and let this run its course, even if it takes nine more months or nine more years.
I've dated people since our ending, but their best and worst flaw are always one in the same: They're not you.
I will never be happy for you, because what you did resulted in everything I have lost. But I will be happy for me. Happy that I left that horrifying situation in order to take the time to find something real.
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