Monday, 29 March 2010


I think it's finally sinking in. You are somewhere else, picking up the pieces, looking for a flat, getting back to work, getting on with what's left of your life. I am here.

I can't remember missing someone this way for a long time. It's an unfamiliar feeling.

It's like there is still a bond between us, being gradually stretched into a thin silver string, and I am just waiting for it to snap.

It is hard to say if this will be more or less painful than the waiting process.

Monday, 22 March 2010

Dear J II

I miss you. I miss someone sitting on the sofa next to me, frowning when I laugh at pointless things on the TV. I miss your smell. I started crying this evening because someone got married at the end of a show. A fictional show. I'm not usually like that.

At the same time, I can't decide if I actually want you back or not. Do I really want someone to pour cold water in my blood whenever I have a good idea? Don't I like being able to eat whatever I want and to say whatever I want without actually offending anyone for totally obscure reasons?

Right now, I think I can never fall in love again. I feel broken inside. I can't tell if I think I want you back because I don't think I'll ever fall for someone else, or if it is because it is actually you I want back. I wish I could ask you these things. It hurts not to be able to, although you never once really helped me out in any of my emotional dilemmas anyway.

I miss your body the most, curling up against you and feeling the warmth of my own breath reflected from your smooth back or your upper arm draped across my chest. What does that mean? And who do I ask now I can't ask you? Who was I asking while I was with you, since you never gave any satisfactory answers anyway? Was I really alone this whole time, without noticing..?

It is weird not knowing where you are, where you are sleeping, who you are sleeping with. I don't mind if you meet someone else, as long as I don't have to watch you kiss her, look at her with love in your eyes.

I was always afraid of seeing that look in someone's eyes, of complete devotion, I don't like the feeling of holding someone else's fragile heart in my sometimes clumsy hands. Maybe I was holding yours and just looked away. Maybe I never did.

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

Minute by minute

I am now in my second exiled home since The Breakup. I feel unexpecedly OK. Still numb, but I laughed out loud today and I haven't cried since Saturday (though I almost started sobbing out loud on the treadmill today due to a particularily poignant moment in Scrubs.. so maybe not exactly "over it"...).

It is weird how even after a few days, J is slipping away from me. I still feel pain as I write that. But I know it is only a matter of time before I can no longer remember the exact imprint his body used to make on mine during an early morning spoon, the smell of his chest when he came into the flat in the afternoon, his coat still icy cold, the taste of his upper lip. Soon, all that will remain are flashes of the feeling of his hand on my cheek, a disjointed image of a smile, I won't remember his exact voice anymore. How I fell for that voice. I grieve over all these things.

For a while I had a headache. Now, the pain is duller, situated somewhere between the chest and throat. Maybe my heart really is breaking.

As I was brushing my teeth in my friend's kitchen sink, I briefly had an impulse to call J, because he might be feeling horrible, and past experience shows that he might cave. But I didn't. Partly because I'm too proud, shamefully also partly because the scent of freedom is making its way through the misty stench of cat lady fantasies, and it is attractive, but also partly because I am starting to remember all the things that weren't so good. How I would sometimes crave someone extroverted, someone who loved words as much as I do, someone who would look me in the eye while talking, someone who was truly proud to be my boyfriend because they felt pride in themselves, and faith in me, in us. This is also sad. I don't want to forget all those good moments we have shared despite all those things. Yet over time, it is impossible to hold onto them.

I might cry later when I go to bed. I might not.

One day I will read this blog back to myself, the whole of it. One day, I might print it and give it to J.

Sunday, 14 March 2010

Dear J

It's official. I am no longer J's Girlfriend. I guess I haven't been for a long time, in a sense, but at the same time, I am finding it difficult to fathom.

J and I recently had our 5th anniversary, which was passed by us both in unusual silence, no presents, no morning cuddle, no breakfast in bed or lingering at the dinner table way too late with a bottle of wine.

So dear J. I miss you already. Tonight, when I am doing the proverbial camping out on my friend's sofa so that you can wrap up your belongings and move back to Britain, my thoughts go to you, to us, although there is no us anymore.

I cried all morning, and I cried after you went out to do a few errands and to leave me in peace to pack up the stuff I needed for the weekend.

You have been kind to me, so, so kind.

I am not denying that being with you has been hard, probably harder than being with most other people.

But I feel that what I have had in return, the chance to see you open up and occasionally daring to dream even, has been amazing.

We have seen the world together, slept at ridiculously luxurious and horrifyingly bad hotels in several continents.

You held my hand through so many horror films, though you hated them all.

I worry for you, that you will retreat into your shell and stay there until life suddenly has passed you by. I worry for you, that you will meet someone else and be happier than you were with me. I want you to be happy, but I still am not at the stage where I am ready to look it in the eyes that there might never be an "us" again.

We talked so much this weekend, more than we have in the last year added up. Frank talk, with all the pressures of having to build a life together lifted, your fingers discovering the curves of my toes for the millionth time, me sniffing the crook of your neck as if you were my baby. You were my baby. And I was yours.

I think I am still numb. I am keeping all the if onlys and what ifs at bay, because I think they would drown me if I don't let the sea of tears subside first.

I sit here gazing across the ocean, lights twinkling on the islands out there. I take one hour, one minute at a time, breathing through, staying alive. I think of you, always. But that too will pass.

Although I feel relieved, relieved that I will no longer have to watch my every step, to be vigilant as to whether you have had a bad day, to bite my tongue as you fail to respond to me in a fashion I don't just think is mechanical, despite all this, all I remember now is all those mornings where the curves of your body fitted mine so perfectly, the smell of your wollen sweathers and white t-shirts, the top of your head and the palm of your hands. The nice conversations, the laughs, the intimacy. Not the long evenings of silence or the pointless, pointless arguments that have always appeared to come out of nowhere.

Soon, you will probably be another one of my exes, that I check out on facebook when I'm bored and never really contact.

I'm just not ready to take in that part yet.

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