When did the leaves change? I don’t remember the day it actually happened. That makes me a little bit sad. It seems like I should know and remember that moment. Just like how I should be able to remember our last kiss, but I can’t. I can’t remember the last time we held hands as best friends, or cooked dinner together.
Maybe it’s better this way. I won’t (can’t) dwell on things that probably don’t matter. It’s the collective hand-holding and dinner cooking that matters anyway, right? The feeling of all of it together, that’s how I’ll end up remembering it anyway.
After a few months, the whole relationship will just melt into itself, with only a few distinct moments that poke through and stand alone. The rest will morph into a feeling. Undefined moments that you can’t see, but when you close your eyes and allow your heart to go there – you can feel all of them together, bittersweet.
Particularly sad for the first few years, but then hopefully everything begins to feel neutrally happy. The overwhelming edges are dulled and I’ll be left with something that feels like maybe it didn’t even happen.
Did we really happen? How did it all come together for it to be what it became? What in the hell kept us glued?
It couldn’t have been real.
And then I’ll dig around for the old pictures and re-read your love notes and I could be 103 years old and it will still hurt a tiny bit. A twinging pain in the side of my heart, and I’ll wonder what if.