2015 · 2015/10 · Vignette

The Art of Forgetting on Purpose

Did we kiss goodbye?

Maybe.

I can’t remember.

I know he got too drunk to have sex the night before he left, and we had to wake up early as he hadn’t even packed. I helped him pack, made him a sandwich that he may or may not ate, and he was out of the door.

Oh wait, I remember he came back for something… what was it?

I told him he was running late, and then he was gone.

I went upstairs to my room, and went back to bed. Or did I stay in his room?

I can’t remember.

I know it took me about half an hour after closing the door to start crying. It wasn’t long lived, and it wasn’t heart breaking. I think I told myself that I should probably cry.

I thought he would come back within a month or two, but I should have known better.

How long after he left did he call?

I can’t remember.

I know I felt disposed of, left behind, and at the same time I refused to admit it, I refused to see things for what they were.

I thought he left to make a new start, and that the new start would involve me. Somehow. Someday.

How long did I fool myself with these ridiculous beliefs?

I can’t remember.

For the first, or maybe fourth time in my life, I seemed to have managed to narrow my vision so much that I shut everything out, everyone out. It’s ridiculous, they would say. Where is he? they would ask. When is he coming back? Is he coming back? I’d refuse those thought to enter my mind.

I found myself not noticing the outside world. I decided that I was infatuated and that I was dutifully awaiting his return, and this role would have clashed with glancing after a hot guy I passed by on the street. I was the girl waiting for the boy returning from war, only it was a different kind of ‘prove myself’ quest he embarked on, and I enrolled as the cheerleader.

What was I thinking when I slept with someone half way through his absence? Not much. I can hardly remember it, I was so drunk. I never told him, and from then on I realised, it was non of his business. My body, my life.

I met Him a year after his departure. He knew about him, and I knew about Her.

How did I keep in touch for a year and a half with him, and why?

I can’t remember.

That’s a lie. I just don’t want to.

And now, 4 years after I ‘met’ Him, here I am again… This learning curve was a little longer, and while the previous was financially, this one was emotionally taxing.

Was. Past tense.

He ended it without realising. Or maybe, He didn’t. Maybe He did it on purpose, at some level…

‘A slow letting-go, to ease it’… It wasn’t. It was the slamming of a door that was never truly open. How it could make such a noise then, I have no idea.

I have a new start to make. And this time… This time, I hope it may combine the physical and the emotional. I’m kind of aching enough from never having been able to have the two combined.

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