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threeplusfireDear A---,
Once I thought we would grow old together. Now I have to wonder if you ever think of me, if you have forgiven me for doing what I had to do. If you have forgiven me for leaving. I don't know. I doubt it. When I see a car that looks like yours, or a man who seems like you in a crowded place, it gives me a start. This is such a small town for a city and it surprises me that we haven't run into each other during the past three years. But I don't go to the bars we did, or the same grocery store anymore.
When we met, I thought everything that happened was the world making up for all the bad times. You told me I was beautiful, you made me see myself that way in post midnight darkness on the bedroom floor. That summer we stayed up all night, smoked too much, drank too much, spent all our money on going out to eat and bottles of wine. It was glorious.
You know, I've always blamed myself for it. Not for any of the usual reasons. But because we played that WoD game Jason ran, the night Roland told Anna about the coming of the end of the world. There was a sadness I couldn't break. I remember the days afterward when you just laid on the couch like someone had died. I thought you were just so moved by the story and the game, that your passion for the story made you come undone in a way I understood.
But I was wrong, I was wrong. This was part of the storm, the beginning of cycles. Once we were down in it, I cursed myself for a fool for not seeing you before. The summer was one long manic phase. It was never like that again. There were so many lies that I can't say for certain what was true in the last year of our life. I thought I knew who you were, but maybe I was wrong the entire time. Maybe you lied when you loved me, or maybe it was true part of the time. I can't say.
I said I would go with you to the end because I thought it was the most romantic thing to say and because I thought it meant a lifetime. It was not the end I wanted, calling 911 in the middle of the night, police and the hospital and screaming and the cold, cold waiting room. They saved your life but it wasn't enough to save our marriage.
For years I kept the last two pills from the bottle of ninety, the only two you didn't take the weekend you overdosed. Before you came home from the hospital I took the shirt I loved most on you because I selfishly didn't want anyone else to love you in it the way I did. I kept them a long time, even after I married Mike last year. Before we moved into the new house I threw them away. They only reminded me that you weren't what you seemed, of a life and a love that didn't last.
Goodbye,
A.
Once I thought we would grow old together. Now I have to wonder if you ever think of me, if you have forgiven me for doing what I had to do. If you have forgiven me for leaving. I don't know. I doubt it. When I see a car that looks like yours, or a man who seems like you in a crowded place, it gives me a start. This is such a small town for a city and it surprises me that we haven't run into each other during the past three years. But I don't go to the bars we did, or the same grocery store anymore.
When we met, I thought everything that happened was the world making up for all the bad times. You told me I was beautiful, you made me see myself that way in post midnight darkness on the bedroom floor. That summer we stayed up all night, smoked too much, drank too much, spent all our money on going out to eat and bottles of wine. It was glorious.
You know, I've always blamed myself for it. Not for any of the usual reasons. But because we played that WoD game Jason ran, the night Roland told Anna about the coming of the end of the world. There was a sadness I couldn't break. I remember the days afterward when you just laid on the couch like someone had died. I thought you were just so moved by the story and the game, that your passion for the story made you come undone in a way I understood.
But I was wrong, I was wrong. This was part of the storm, the beginning of cycles. Once we were down in it, I cursed myself for a fool for not seeing you before. The summer was one long manic phase. It was never like that again. There were so many lies that I can't say for certain what was true in the last year of our life. I thought I knew who you were, but maybe I was wrong the entire time. Maybe you lied when you loved me, or maybe it was true part of the time. I can't say.
I said I would go with you to the end because I thought it was the most romantic thing to say and because I thought it meant a lifetime. It was not the end I wanted, calling 911 in the middle of the night, police and the hospital and screaming and the cold, cold waiting room. They saved your life but it wasn't enough to save our marriage.
For years I kept the last two pills from the bottle of ninety, the only two you didn't take the weekend you overdosed. Before you came home from the hospital I took the shirt I loved most on you because I selfishly didn't want anyone else to love you in it the way I did. I kept them a long time, even after I married Mike last year. Before we moved into the new house I threw them away. They only reminded me that you weren't what you seemed, of a life and a love that didn't last.
Goodbye,
A.