Today would have been our first anniversary.
That sounds so melodramatic. I doubt you even know the date. But it would have been, if we were counting from our first date. The way we started, we could have a few different days. I would have listed them for you. The night we met. Our first date. When we made it āofficial.ā
I know the dates of the first four times we saw each other. I know when I met your parents, when you met mine. I know the first time we had sex. When I stopped thinking it was casual.Ā
A year ago today we met for coffee. Seeing if we actually liked each other, considering the night we met was a party at a bar - I was already drunk when we were introduced. I didnāt realize I knew your name until the morning. But we did like each other. Enough to go out the following weekend. And the weekend after that. And then you were driving three and a half hours each way just to see me; we spent the entire weekend together, every weekend we could. I met your parents at Easter, you came to my graduation banquet a week later.Ā
Maybe itās because we started long-distance. That certainly makes it easier to maintain a relationship. Or maybe you changed your mind about me once you moved back. Or maybe you never intended it to be long-term. I can certainly see, now, how and why it ended. I can see the cracks weeks before it happened. Regardless of your intentions, it hurt me. More emotional pain than I have ever experienced in my life. For a seven-month relationship - six of which were spent in different provinces - it was more than I expected. But it was the first time I felt like I could see the way my life would go with someone - and the first time the thought of it didnāt scare me to death.Ā
So. Five months post-breakup and here we are. One year later. A friend said, āwow, doesnāt seem that long ago, a year can go by so fast,ā and sheās right. Not that long. Relationship and breakup and attempt to move on. Not that long.
I hate that I still think about you. I hate that I still wonder where you are, what youāre doing, if Iāll ever run into you in the neighbourhood. I ache for and dread that last one in equal measure. Iām sure you arenāt still thinking about me. Thatās the way you are; once you make that decision you arenāt going to second guess yourself, or bother with wondering. But I do. Sometimes I feel like all I do is imagine what could have been - whether itās with you or not, whether itās something I regret or something Iām just curious about. Not you though. Once itās been decided itās as good as done. No point thinking about it or dragging it out. Quick. Easy. I envy you that.Ā
But at night when Iām alone with my thoughts - or maybe a little drunk, like right now - I canāt help but feelā¦ unsettled. Like we never got closure. Like I still donāt know why or how you decided, unilaterally, that this was best for me. Not for yourself. I would have accepted that. But that I deserved better. And if that isnāt the biggest cop-out you could have pulled. Still, Iāve managed to accept it. To start to move on, get past it. And while itās over and done in my head, my heart isnāt ready to let go (again with the melodrama). Ā
Everything else in my life is going well now, by the way. In case you were interested. I bought the piano Iāve been thinking about since I first told you I used to play last summer, and I practice for hours because I want to, not because my mother is forcing me. I joined a gym, found new issues with my knee, and finished the soccer season on an incredible high note. Iāve got amazing friends. Iām looking for my own apartment. Work is looking up; Iām thinking about grad school. Itās almost spring. And yet (and yet). Iāve been on one borderline-disastrous date. I see your picture on Facebook and it feels like a punch to the gut. I still get irrationally angry about your mattress (or lack there-of). And yet, here I am, one year to the day since our first date, writing an essay to you about us.
I want this to be over. I donāt want to think about you (Where you are. What youāre doing. How your training is going. If you think it was worth it.). I want to find someone else. Be happy on my own. So Iām hoping this will give me closure. Give me a chance to stop thinking about it. Iāll never, ever, send this to you. This is for me, to make me feel that closure, to help me get over it, get less bitter (and that is really the sad part. Bitter about Life and Love because of one seven-month relationship where you didnāt fall in love with me, and really isnāt it as simple as that) and move on.
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