All I have left are memories and photographs.
I’ve long since washed the sheets that lingered with your scent. You never wore a particular perfume, but the smell of you has long since wafted from my room. The romantic in me says that I will always remember the way you smelled, the sweat of a long day, the soap that you used, that particular mingling of scent that was us, after. But the reality is that I only remember the pleasure of your smell, my nose has long since forgotten that particular taste.
It took me a while to remove all traces of you, the few items you left behind stayed mostly where you left them. The space I set for you stayed clear for months, but now holds small things I use from day to day. You came and got most of your things, but you forgot one or two things behind. Nothing important, things only precious to me in the connection to you. But even those things are gone now, returned or stashed away. Perhaps in a few years I’ll find them again, digging through my boxes, and I wonder how they’ll make me feel then?
I kept your phone number in my favorites, I kept the ringtone that was just for you, hoping that I’d hear it go off, praying that it wouldn’t just be a mistake. Even that’s gone now, the space allotted for something else, probably something banal. But you’re number still remains, for the occasional text on birthdays and special occasions.
Yesterday was your birthday, that was a special occasion. I sent you a well wishing, and you thanked me for it, but I know the wishes of someone else mean far more to you now than mine. That’s ok, really. I hope you have found happiness, I hope that you’ve found joy. That’s all I ever wanted for you, to help you grow, to help you to see the wonder that I saw whenever I got to look at you. I know that you’ll go far, that you’ll continue to grow, that you will succeed in your dreams, that you’ll achieve your goals. At least, that’s what I believe, even though I know I won’t be there to share in your triumph.
I don’t know how much of an impact I’ve had in your life. The way things ended scream at me like a wound, a violent display of how little importance you held us in. Part of me says that the only way you know how to end things is through a severing, a cold and merciless cutting out of the past. That the greater the impact, the more severe the disconnect. This is what I tell myself, that somehow I meant more to you than what appearances would seem to suggest. But, that doesn’t really matter now, my impact on your life is over, and you have walked away.
You meant the world to me, even though I always knew that allowing you to get so close was a really poor decision. I was warned, you see. “She’s too young for you. She’ll grow and move on, but you are through with your changing.” I knew it going in, and in the end, that was a convenient excuse for you to use. Perhaps it wasn’t an excuse, perhaps it truly was the way of it, but this also no longer matters.
Even so, you taught me more about myself than I thought was possible. You reminded me that there can be a light out there, that I am not ever alone. It’s hard for me to see the love and support that others give to me, it’s hard for me to accept their love as anything more than platitudes. I wish it was easier, but that’s the way of it. You saw through all of that, and somehow you always knew exactly what to do or say that made me see that you meant it. I never doubted you. Not then. Perhaps the doubt I have now is a self defense mechanism, a way for my lizard brain to somehow shift some of the blame more onto you, give me a reason for anger instead of all this pain. But I don’t want to believe that. I don’t want to doubt. I don’t want to see any blame placed anywhere, because sometimes things just end.
I always said that you could walk away, knowing that you probably would, hoping that you wouldn’t. It’s time that I accepted that, that I grow, that I let the memories fade, the wounds to heal, the fires to burn out, the embers to grow cold. But I am afraid. I am afraid that when those memories go, it’ll take the fire from the lessons that you taught me. I worry that once again, I’ll return to the emotionless machine, where the thin veneer of humanity is nothing more than a facade.
Things are better now, and I do have hope that some of that will stick. When I think of some of the people in my life, I know that my smile is genuine. I know that the warmth in my heart comes from them, and I know that it is real. Perhaps the fear of losing that is just another crutch, an excuse I give to rationalize continuing to hold on to something that has passed.
Either way, it is time to move on. I have my own path to follow, my own growth to find. I’ll do it, I know that I will, and I know these memories will help me to remember, will become another step along my path.
Thank you, for teaching me so much. You still mean the world to me, but that is gratitude for what was, and no longer for what is.
Goodbye, ka. May you truly find the happiness you seek.
