“You know things are really over when they’re truly happy…and you’re nowhere to be seen.”
- Me
First off, let me just wish you all a belated Happy MLK Day. Hope you got to enjoy a fabulous three day weekend like I did (well technically I got a 4 day weekend, but that’s because I was sick on FridayL)!
So yeah, I wrote this quote. And yes, it’s fairly depressing.
Picture it: Fordham University, 2003. A happy sophomore sits in her dorm room pondering the meaning of life and love (and watching Law & Order SVU). Almost one year after the end of her first I-love-you relationship she thinks to herself, “Hey, I wonder what he’s up to these days. How’s he doing? Did he ever get around to the whole college thing?”
It seems innocent enough. So she emails him with the above questions. She hits “send”…
And all of a sudden her heart is pounding in her throat and the room is spinning. Did she really just do that?? What is he going to think? What is he going to say? When will be respond? Will he respond? What was she thinking?!
Ok, I’ll stop talking in the third person. My Sophia Petrillo moment is officially over.
He did respond. In a pretty timely manner. In a tone that we had never used with each other before. It wasn’t mean or angry. It was glib. It was curt. It said (without saying) that he was done. He was glad I was still alive, but that was about it.
He didn’t want to pretend to be friends. He was happy. He had moved on. And so should I.
And just like that, I realized it was really over. Long over. Any fantasy I’d had about us one day meeting again after years had passed and reuniting just like the old days (as distant or unacknowledged by my psyche as they may have been) died that day.
That day, almost one year after crying my eyes out on the steps of my dorm room over the demise of puppy love and losing a little piece of my childhood, I cried again.
I cried because fairytales didn’t explain this part of love and life to me. They didn’t explain that sometimes things end…and really just end.
I cried because I knew that memories and a few faded pictures would be all I’d ever have to remember those years of my life.
I cried because I didn’t know what else to do.
He was truly happy and I was nowhere to be seen…
I’d be lying if I said I never thought about him after that day. Heck, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still wonder how his life was going today. That’s just who I am. I like to know that the people who’ve been involved in my life are doing OK. But it’s been different since that day.
It’s more like the fond glow you put around memories of things that happened in Kindergarten – you know you’ll never get back to that time (nor do you really want to), but you appreciate it for what it was. For what it taught you.
You appreciate it for what you were able to become because you lived through it.