Bereavement

I woke up this morning and I still didn’t have a reply from her. For the past week or so, I’ve been dreaming of her nightly. In my dreams, we are together again and walking on some downtown street. She looks so happy, perfect even. Just when I reach over to kiss her, I remember that she’s married and that none of this is real and I wake up. And I don’t think I want to hear her voicemail again, so I just don’t call anymore. As I write this, I’m looking at a blank wall, and my oppressive imagination reminds me of her smile, the way her eyes would look deep into mine, and the precious laugh she would give.

Bereavement - each time she returns to my life, it’s just a shard of glass into my soul as I remember once again what I lost, or what I gave away. If I had decided to stay with her, if I had more trust and optimism, she would have been wearing my ring instead of his.

Now I walk outside my building and feel the Oregon wind. It tastes like desolation and rain, but it is oddly comforting. I whisper song lyrics as I attempt to forget about her. She laughs at our song now (or at least that’s what she told me). It probably doesn’t mean anything to her anymore.

But I’m here, years later, softly saying “I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.”

Loss.

I love her.


She’s my wonderwall.


Our song still means something to me.


Without shame or guilt, I’m moving on from her. It’s time for me to forget and abandon a moment in time that has long been forgotten. I wipe away these tears and not think much of it because I’m not ashamed to experience true love. This isn’t some casual infatuation, I fucking love her inside and out.

I’d forge a fabricated posture more suitable for the public, but being that this is an honest journal, I hold no abashment about expressing myself. I hate dreaming that I can still be the one to make her smile and wake up to the grim reality that she’s gone.

I love her more than he does, and there's no doubt I would have worked harder to make her happy.