Monday, July 12, 2004

If I could turn back time so that this never happened, I would. I miss him and I miss what could've been if this never happened.

Baseball, dogs, and movies hurt right now. He took them from me.

Brian and I had our problems, but we never worked them out. Whenever I asked him what was wrong, he would assure me that it wasn’t me. To this day I believe that it is true. Right now I believe that it is not me, and that he would still be happy with me and love me if he wanted to work things out.

But he doesn’t. He said that he decided he doesn’t love me and that he just doesn’t want to work it out or talk it out. What should a person do with this new information? That the man you fell in love with and were about to move in with just told you for the first time that he doesn’t think he loves you? According to him, “People break up, and I don’t love you, deal with it.” If he had a soul or some heart, I believe he would say, “Heather, I am worried, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I don’t feel right about us. I know it’s horrible, but I think I have lost my feelings for you. What should we do?” And then maybe we would or wouldn’t work things out. But at least then things would be human, make sense, be rational, be tolerable. After all, we were a team, a partnership, for a whole year, taking on life together, certainly if we were to end our journey, I could also take some part in it. But that isn’t what happened. I had nothing to do with it. He lost his heart and he lost his will. And I don’t know where he went. He is now a stranger and he has drained me from his heart without letting me know. The blood that beats in his heart has frozen cold and he feels nothing for me. But of course when your blood is frozen, you can’t feel anything for anybody, so maybe I can’t take it personally.

And now I sleep in our new apartment that I just moved into. I sleep in his bed. His sheets are under my body, a stale basket of his laundry sits in my bedroom. The air conditioner I made sure to buy so that he would be happy here, while I was happy using a fan, cools my body, and I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. I cannot figure out why this has happened to me.

But slowly and surely he will remember me too. When he flies back up here, and sees the world without me, we will remember. He is safe in another world right now, his hometown, a place where I never existed. But he will not be safe when he escapes from his cocoon, the sheltered bubble he calls his home. And maybe there will be another woman in his life, probably not just yet. But he will see that he will not be loved or accepted as I loved and embraced him. I will have to see him when he moves his bed and his things out of my apartment, and he will remember. And when he remembers, and perhaps remembers the love that he felt for me, then perhaps his blood will thaw from its frozen coffin. And if that happens, maybe he will ask for my love again. But I cannot give it to him. Dead inside or not, my love for him has gone away and turned into throbbing pain.

Maybe that’s why he likes zombie movies so much. He can relate to people who are dead inside. I don’t know when he became a zombie but I would have done anything to help him come back to life.

But that’s the difference. I care. He does not. How could he not care? That is the question, how could anyone not care about something like this.

He is my monster, and he haunts me every moment that I have to look at the world without him in my heart or by my side. The man who got me to watch baseball, like dogs, and who loved movies as much as I did, no longer shares my life or shares my happy moments. As I revisit each memory, my heart fills with the poison and pain of his absence.

He was not the one for me. We had our differences. But I miss him. He is a stranger now. He is my monster and my ghost.

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