I woke up this morning dreaming about my ex.
We’ve been apart now longer than we were together. But her name still comes to mind. I want nothing more than to forget, but the forgetting don’t come easy. I realize I may never forget her, but I thought by now the memories would be rare and fragile things, muted by dust and ashes.
It’s been a year, give or take, since I’ve shed a tear for her, for us, for the love that I tasted for all too brief a time. But there are still tears. Only now they are for me, for the loneliness that I feel with a renewed and profound depth that I never knew before her. Other people’s stories of loss and heartbreak inflame the scar and start the tears flowing anew.
It was a 15 month romance – 19 months total from first glimpse to last. Now it’s been about 19 months since that last glimpse and 21 months since the heartbreak began with the return of a ring. I’ve been trying to sell that ring for far longer than she wore it. She moved to the other side of the continent, I moved a thousand miles, and still the memories of her confront me everywhere I turn.
Some of the pain I feel may be self inflicted. And some of it may be that I have had no one else to share those moments, big and small, that can create new memories to push the old ones back into the far reaches of my mind and heart.
I know I no longer want her back. I no longer miss her. But I miss so much. I miss being in love. I miss being loved. I miss being touched and kissed. Holding and being held. I miss the touch of another. The beat of a heart next to mine. I miss the future that will never be.