Some days are a little harder than others.
Today I found a collection of brochures your parents gave me to remember our holiday in Sweden.
Oh boy, I should be angry at you. I think that would be the normal, the healthy reaction. But I am not having that reaction, somehow.
Because when I remember you, I remember the good things. You might be surprised to know that your smiles tend to come up quite often. Hugs, sometimes, too, as well as the times you cried because you were so happy to be with me.
I don’t think you had any idea back then just of how happy I was to see you happy.
These memories glisten like stars in the night sky of my mind, making the darkness there seem a little less daunting. Despite the changed circumstances, they still radiate their dazzling, golden light. A little too bright, don’t you think?
Oh God, I still love you.
But you know as well as I that I cannot tell you that. Not again. My heart is broken enough as it is.
And you know that if you came back, I would reject you to protect myself.
So I write these letters that I will never send instead of texting you. After all, who would text someone who clearly doesn’t love them anymore? Someone who chases after other women?
Someone they love desperately with all the broken pieces of their shattered heart.
Yet, you cried.
Your mother phoned after we separated, after I was left while leaving you. She told my mother how you would cry at various times of the day because we didn’t talk anymore, how she tried to console you.
I didn’t understand it back then. Up to this day, I still don’t understand how you could look at me, day after day. You told me that my new dress looked lovely, talking about how you were planning to lose some weight. Like I was just some stranger. Why? Why make smalltalk about mundane banalities? Is that your idea of reconciliation? Is that even what you’re aiming for? I didn’t think so.
Maybe we simply weren’t meant to be. Maybe we were too different. That’s what people tell me, anyways.
“You’re too good for him“, they say. I bet you’ve been told similar things.
But you know what? I still wake up every morning hoping that you’re all right. That you’re safe and sound and that your day is going well. I truly wish you well, but I can’t even tell you that.
Anyways, I have decided to endure the pain of missing you, even though it is more painful than simply demonizing you, twisting and manipulating memories to make you seem like the bad guy. Why? Because I truly believed in us, in our love, in you.
We might become strangers, we might never talk to each other again.
But I will love you in my own, weird way. Until my very last breath. And loving and honouring you includes remembering the bad things, but cherising the good ones.
Even if that means that some days are indeed a little harder than others.