A Farewell to You, Whom I Love to Hate.
I remember the first time I saw you. We sat across from each other at a restaurant with 12 of your closest friends. I only knew one other person there, and she was nowhere to be found. It was cloudy and rainy. My hair and shoulders were drenched. Your black rain jacket protected you from the elements. You introduced yourself with your full name - first, middle and last.
I remember the last time I saw you. It was just you and me, in an empty parking in the middle of my city, in a neighborhood you’re not familiar with. It was windy, but the sun was shining. You were in the shade and the wind made you clench that same black rain jacket a little tighter around yourself. I was standing in the sun.
I’ve completely forgotten your middle name.
I loved you then. In believing in you, I believed in myself less. Hoping for the best for you, I gave up the best for myself. I loved you far longer and far more than you deserved. I cared about the things you cared about, and soon I completely lost myself in the facade of a life you helped build around me.
I hope you’ve learned to be true to your word. I don’t think about you much anymore, and I’m certainly not curious about what you’re up to.
I’ve forgotten how to pronounce your last name.
I remember the last time I saw you. The feeling of my damaged, rotten heart glad to shed the last of you. I felt powerful that day. I was taking control of my life and leaving you in the dust was the release I didn’t realize I needed.
You turned around and I’m sure you struck your stupidly boyish smile at me, hoping I’d be drawn back into your charm.
“I’ll see you later!“
You’ve given me the opportunity for a clean exit and I’m taking it. I signal my departure with a careless wave, acknowledging your remark but not responding to it, letting you know that this time, I’m the one walking away.
“No, actually. You won’t.“
Soon, you won’t even be a memory.
