Day 1.

I start again. Today, I told myself.

Its the beginning of a brand new life. Have to move on. Have to let go.

But no one ever told me that letting go would ever be this hard.

You remind me that I was capable of liking. Loving?

I can only say yeah. I guess there was love, after all.

Although I never mentioned it. It slipped past my lips a few times but I was so afraid that I would have to take it back.

I remembered the first time you texted me goodnight and you said, “Goodnight, my love.”

And me, probably being a typical male, didn’t reply in kind.

I look back at the posts that I’ve written. When I had jumped in with my heart open wide and my eyes shut tight, taking the plunge because I knew I wanted to and I knew that it would be good because you’d be there at the end of it all.

But now you remind me. Of everything.

I slept on your pillow last night. I had initially decided that this is something I could not do anymore. Just because there was nothing I was going to get out of it that would keep me sane. But no.

I woke up and there I was, my head on your pillow, the slight scent of you left drifting in the air.

I remember wrapping my arm around your waist as you slept. And on the occasions that I turned to the other side, you would roll over and hug me instead.

You kept me warm. On those cold nights.

I think it there’s always that element of reflection that you get after a breakup. The analysis part of it, somehow, seems warranted.

You start going through the little bits and pieces. You analyze how awesome Life has been with that person that you once knew. And you look around the room and all you can see if the ghost of that someone still lingering there.

Your bathrobe hangs on my chair. Your earrings in the trophy cup on the dresser. How you’d tousle your hair in my mirror. I’d make you a cup of tea in the kitchen. The living room couch. You sitting on my computer whilst I lazed in bed, looking at you and smiling.

I knew it was coming. Her reasons were justifiably concrete. There was no two ways about it. That was it and that was that and I could fight against the gods but nay, nothing good arose out of that. I could have won the battles but I would have lost the war.

Her smile was still lovely. I loved the way she smiled at me.

And her memories cling on to everything I see.

Farmer’s market.
Town.
KFC.
Maccas.
Salsa.
The Hill.
The footpath outside the White House.
A bachata playing on my computer.
Pizza at Stellar.

But I’m trying. I’m trying here and I’m trying hard.