425: In Memoriam (Recovery)
Today, my mind wandered onto him. Everyday I spare a few thoughts for him, a ghost of my past, someone I may never see for a long time. I remember our first date. Saturday, September 17. I met him outside Town Hall. My memory is fuzzy on what he was wearing, but it caught my eye and I caught his sleeve. Or maybe my memory is fuzzy on that part as well. We walked around the city, talking about ourselves, each other, setting up foundations for this relationship we thought would last us a long time. We had lunch at a Japanese restaurant in Chinatown. He tried to pay for me but I wouldn’t let him. I think I paid for my own and he paid for his, but he definitely paid for snacks for the movie. We watched Sully together. It was the first time we’d made…physical contact, I guess? I rested my head on his shoulder. I remember our first date, but it wasn’t as clear as I remembered the day before.
Not in chronological order, but I remember looking at him as we walked around together, admiring every feature of his face, his soft smile, the gentle sheen in his eyes. Those little things I miss, but don’t shed a tear for anymore. Playfully grabbing my shoulders to steer me into a certain direction. Those little mischievous hand grabs. The snug hugs, cuddles, sneaky but passionate kisses. I miss those, but the harder I try to snatch back these memories the faster they fade. Sharing our music tastes. It is still too painful to listen to our old songs together. The feelings and sentiments I associated with those songs are too much for me, at least for now. I absolutely fucking hate Ed Sheeran’s “Shape of You”. It reminds me of what he said to me and how I knew he felt about me in the dying days of our relationship.
I forget I used to refer to him as my honey, my cuet blob, blob, other nicknames that have faded. He’s still saved as one of them in my contact list. I haven’t bothered to change it. With the sunglasses emoji. The dying embers of pain as they are snatched by the wind, exhausted by the breath of life. It’s almost as if he was a figment of my imagination, a very powerful one at that, for eight months of my life. The unlikely couple that wasn’t supposed to last. So that’s why I recoiled at the sight of us every time we passed a mirror together in H & M, or some other clothing department store. Because we didn’t seem like a good match. I wasn’t recoiling because of me. I was recoiling because of us.
I miss this part of my life, a little bit, you know? Life was good. I wasn’t. And I’m still not good, but I’m moving on well and assimilating into this new life.
Well not really a new life. More like a new segment of this TV show called, My Life.