“Is it weird that you were married and together for 5 years, and now she’s a stranger?”

It took me a long long time to answer.

I replied

“She was a stranger long before I ever left.”

I wanted to go fishing, and you took me. I had the most fun on that trip. We went to Albertsons, and bought food to cook out. We had little to no utensils and no stove top. I remember how happy I was then.

Right after we got home, is when you started to feel far away. Those were the last moments I really felt you there with me. In love, the kind I thought I’d never have.

Fuck I miss you. I miss THAT you. I miss my friend.

I watched a video today, from my snap memories. You were talking to Oakley. And getting ready for bed. I laughed, and then I cried.

Do you know I still write to you here? You know this space exists in my life. So I wonder if you check.

I love you.

After nearly two years, and being so so careful.. I finally caught covid.

It's scary. My body is having a hard time fighting it. I can already tell.

I miss you guys. I miss watching blacklist.

Life was so different a year ago... would you go back if you could?

It’s been 7 months since I left. It’s funny how often you cross my mind. Especially since I’ve been completely erased from yours. Every where is a memory, of you and B.

I hope you’re happy. And I’m sorry that happiness wasn’t with me. I wanted it to be. I so badly wanted to be that for you.

I love you, still.

And I wonder if you miss sleeping next to me.

My cold feet tangled in yours for warmth.

I think my bones knew, that last night.

You were mad at me.

It doesn’t matter why, now.

Something in my body said “hold her.”

And I did. I held you for hours.

Trying to memorize the way your chest and belly rose and fell as you breathed yourself into a deep sleep.

I often wonder if you woke up that morning and knew it would be the last time.

Did I look beautiful the last time you watched me, peaceful and quiet?

I didn’t feel beautiful in those last months.

You always swore I was.

I wish I’d believed you.

Maybe now I’d believe it.

I can’t count on my hands how many times a day I want to send you a stupid meme.

Or tell you about this new job I hate.

I packed all the memories into a box,

I hate that you gave it all to me.

I can’t throw them away.

So that huge box with every piece of our life...

It haunts my one bedroom apartment.

-Divorce Chronicles Part 1

The book of us has many worn pages to prove that.

There is one page, the corner is folded down.

But the memory is as clear as a blue sky in July.

I visit that memory often.

It was late at night, maybe 10pm.

You asked “do you wanna see a zebra?”

I didn’t believe you were taking me to see a real zebra.

We pulled off the road and you shined your headlights into a fenced off field.

And there were zebras.

I was so excited. And you just smiled at me.

It’s funny now I realize, zebras don’t belong in west Texas.

And neither do I.

She is- the first warm day of spring. When I feel the sun hit my face and realize I’ve been cold for so damn long.

She is- the the ocean at Bodega Bay, when I haven’t been in a while. I step close to the shore line and the freezing water washes over my toes and the smell of salt fills my nose.

She is- walking into my parents house after being gone for way too long. And a feeling of calm and home washes over me.

She is- that every day first sip of perfectly made coffee at 4 am. Calming and familiar.

She is-waking up at 10 am on a Sunday and hearing rain on the tin roof of our apartment. She smiles at me before touching my nose and making me giggle.

She is- the moon that I love to admire. I’m amazed by every single phase— and yet she’s always so far out of reach.

She is- the ending of my favorite book. I always know how it will end, yet I still open the book whenever the need for that thrill arrives.

And every time you go, these beautiful words flow from my hands and onto paper. And at least I had that.

I didn’t have you.

But I was still making words on paper sound like bliss.

And it helped me cope.

This time hurts so badly that I can’t even write. It’s been over a month now. And it still hurts.