It’s Jock’s Birthday
I don’t know why I felt the need to tell you that but I’m pretty sure it’s his birthday. I don’t remember many birthdays. I’m trying to remember how old he would be but I never remembered while we were together so I’m definitely not remembering now.
I Facebook-stalked him a couple of days ago and found out where he lived. It’s close to where I live. It’s an uncomfortable feeling knowing we could pass each other regularly and I wouldn’t know. I knew he’d moved closer a while back but I didn’t realise it was that close… You know? It made me feel weird.
I still think about him sometimes although I try to stop myself as much as I can. It makes my heart sink. I still care about that man so much and I really don’t get why. I don’t know anything about his life now apart from the car he drives and the town he lives in but apart from that, I have no clue. He could be fatter. He could be wrinklier or greyer. I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t even care. But still the very thought of him, of bumping into him, of seeing him… It fills me with dread.
I found the stuff I’d bought him for his birthday and Christmas last year just a few weeks back. I couldn’t work out what had been hastily shoved right down the back of my closet and after I’d pulled the bundle out, I realised. I’d shoved it down there because it was a little space I never went to. The very back of my closet could have a small community living in there and I wouldn’t know. I never go there. That’s why I put it there. And then I pulled it out.
There was the t-shirt I’d bought him that I knew he’d love. The hat, the other hat, the little bits and pieces that had made me laugh or reminded me of him… That man had every little bit of my heart in his hands and he crushed it. I think he crushed my belief in that happy-ever-after too.
It’s been over a year. A year since we parted ways. A year since I first found myself back on the single’s market after thinking I never would be again. According to my research, it takes half the time you were with someone to get over them. We were together for two years. Well, just shy of. If that’s the case, it’s been more than a year – I should be over him by now. So why aren’t I?
It’s getting better, don’t get me wrong. I don’t feel the same pain I felt over the last year. The feeling that something was missing, something was out of place, that feeling has subsided a lot. But it’s still there. I still miss him almost daily. I still see things or hear things that I know he’d love. I still think about buying him quirky t-shirts or crazy hats. I still think about him a lot.
Sometimes I get scared that he was my ‘one’. That I fucked it up. That we fucked it up. It scares me because I worry I won’t ever find a love like that again. A love that consumes you and when it’s gone leaves you breathless, winded, weak. With him, I felt on top of the world. Even when I hated him and we had our battles, I never really hated him. I couldn’t ever hate him. Without him, I feel lost. Even now, one year on, I feel lost. It still feels like something’s missing. It still feels like something’s out of place.
As I sit here writing this, I’m letting myself listen to All of Me by John Legend for the first time in months. There’s no tears falling yet but I’m typing furiously to stop myself from sending him a birthday message. I know it’s a REALLY stupid idea so I’m definitely not doing it but I really, really want to. More than anything. I don’t even really know what I’d say…?
Hi, I miss you? I still love you? How are you? Happy birthday? Or the one thing I’m definitely not allowed to say… My life just isn’t right without you in it?
There’s a million reasons why it’s a bad idea. He might be dating someone. He might be married now for all I know. It’s been a year. It’s possible. He might have babies now. That would break my heart. My womb would curl up and die at the thought of him having babies with another woman. My womb belongs to him. He was the one who changed my mind.
He might not want to hear from me. He might hate me. He might be mad at me for not replying back in April when he Facebook-messaged me in the middle of the night. He might be a lot of things.
Or he might be waiting, pining for me like I’m waiting, pining for him.
I doubt it.
I hope he’s having a good birthday though, whatever the situation is. I mean that too. I still care too much for him to wish him bad stuff.
Happy Birthday Jock