May 26, 2005
When I woke up this morning to the puffy face staring back at me through the mirror at the foot of my bed; I knew. I knew I had not seen that face in a very long time and I knew I had not really cried like I had the night before in months. I barely recognized those pronounced rings below my eyes or the redness they had succumbed to, yet I still remember the cause for that tear stained face and the frequency with which it greeted me in mornings passed. I can easily recall the numerous times of frustrating sighs as I applied a modicum of makeup, hoping to mask the emotions that had so easily poured out into the late night hours of my cathartic evening. I have not been there in such a long time...Yesterday I found out that he is going to get remarried in October.
So I suppose I was about due to have it out, the misery in my heart, with all the drunken alacrity that I could possibly muster.
Yeah for me - I cried.
It's not that I want him back, by any means. In fact, when I took the time to stare at his pictures and dissect all the years that were made up of us, I realized that I no longer recognized that face either. I can remember how I once felt and I can recall how much I adored every feature that made him unique, but I can hardly believe that that was all a part of me. It does not seem real and it does not seem, well... right. At all.
More easily assumed is the picture that often flows through my head when I associate a moment with him and that is the vision of him and his new love. Although I have never seen her and although I have never had her features described to me, I can imagine perfectly the character that has won his heart. She is not tall and she is not brazen - she is short and sweet and cute and cuddly as the bunny that dwells behind the shop where I work. She is his ideal and I can only hope that he is forever fulfilled with only her for the rest of his days.
But the boy himself, with any connection to me, is fading.
He is not only fading because I have not seen him in person since December 30th, but he is dissolving because I am no longer in remorse over that old life.
I am no longer remiss of the mornings of puffy eyes and wearied limbs that fought with restlessness throughout the night. I am no longer in want of a questionable path that led only to more questions with answers that hung like darkened clouds of mystery above my head. It was a struggle to ask the questions and it was a never ending battle to accept the answers, if ever an answer was granted. What kind of a life was that and what kind of person am I to hold onto such feelings?
All the same, I felt I needed at least one last night to purge the anguish which became a routine management in a world that encompassed all of four years.
I do not recognize the faces of grief that marked our time together and I do not care to linger with their memory any longer.
Four years filled with mornings such as these is enough.
Nine months full of mourning is plenty for me.
Now is the time to let a new chapter, filled with new faces, begin...