I subscribe to an email service that send me a daily reminder of what I was doing on this date last year. It kinda sucks because as happy as many of those days are — and, frankly, most of them were very happy as I am not usually posting or checking in when they’re not — it’s a reminder that it was a year ago.
Last year, on this date, I took C to brunch at a place so elegant I had a lobster and caviar omelet with creme fraiche and drank champagne rather than mimosas. We sat on a patio, then went shopping, and I bought 6 dresses.
That was not the highlight of the day.
The highlight of the day was when LP joined us on a different patio of a different bar, along with C’s man of the moment. I’d not seen him since we’d split the summer before.
It was as if we had never been apart.
It was so intense and so magical that the memory of it sustained me — and presumably him — through dark times.
Knowing it was a year ago is making me sad.
I should be happy.
He is still in my heart, I am still in his. Circumstances and our own craziness (mostly his) conspire against us.
C said to me at the time — rather dramatically, claiming to be an empath — he loves you so much, but you two can’t be together right now. It may be years.
I have always known that. I have not been waiting. Not entirely. But, he lives in my heart, and I live in his, and at some point, we might get it right.
He has a birthday this week, so I am reticent about reaching out to him today to say “I have the happiest memories of seeing you on this day last year.” But I may. Because I do.
It’s all the days in between that make me sad.