It hurts so much.
It’s absolutely insane.
I think about you all the time.
All the time.
Sometimes I get jealous of my past self,
I feel envy toward that person who shared space with you.
It’s as if it wasn’t real,
as if the skin I’m in now wasn’t the same one you once touched.
Was that really me?
It’s like the time we spent together is water slipping through my fingers.
Weeks of your messages on my phone,
dates after work,
plans made just to see each other…
It feels like part of a movie.
The main character looks so much like me.
I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.
Everyone says it will pass.
And now, sometimes, I think it will.
But in a strange way.
I don’t know if I’m ready for it to pass.
Because sometimes I see you like a memory flying further and further away from me.
And then, even though I feel a bit of relief,
a sorrow so big floods me that I have to cry.
And I’m no longer angry, or anxious.
They’re a different kind of tears:
pure, crystalline sadness.
The sadness of being nothing anymore.
Of you no longer being part of my life.
Of me no longer being part of yours.
Because I wanted you in it.
I wanted you — with all your strange ways.
I wanted you and your hypochondria.
You and your war against sugar.
You and your habit of correcting me when I misspoke.
The thousand rocky seals you wanted to climb.
All the stupid arguments.
All the things we told each other.
The path had only just begun.
It was only the introduction to the book.
I would have loved you so much.
I would have been there.
Always.
