[The following was written in a journal in a coffee shop on December 21st, 2012]
It's midday, afternoon, whatever. I'm sitting here, writing in a tiny book She got for me two years ago for Christmas and I guess I just got around to using it now. That was our thing, you know, trading journals back and forth. She'd write in a couple of entries then give it back to me and I'd write a couple.
We weren't necessarily writing to each other but we were at the same time. It's such a weird way to put it and unless you do it, you won't really get how it feels. You get to open yourself up and see someone else open themselves up. I shared this experience with someone and it was beautiful. But, of course, like all good things it had to end.
And maybe that's my thing, my whole life. You know, get a good thing going for a while and then it gets ripped away from me. I think there's a song about this, how's it go? Oh, you wouldn't know, you're a goddamn book and I'm barely keeping it together.
I'm barely drinking my small cup of black coffee. I'm really stirring it around with one of those little plastic sticks and watching the swirls move back and forth. Sometimes bubbles form and I watch them pop in and out of existence.
I did this for a while [stare at coffee], sorry, I almost forgot that I was writing something. Hah, look at me. Apologizing to a book. She always said I say sorry too much. I probably do, maybe. I don't know. It's become such a habit now, I end up forgetting that I'm doing it.
Anyway this coffee, it's swirling back and forth and it looks like a little galaxy. Just creating bubbles (planets?) and after a while they explode into nothingness. And you know, it's kind of funny that I'm here today, of all days, thinking about my friends and how we were all obsessed with the end of the world. But there's a line of young people, like myself, sitting up against the window with computers. I bet they're all blogging about how the world didn't end and how stupid or lame the people were who thought it was going to end.
Just 'cause they didn't finish the calendar doesn't mean there aren't any days left. It's like, if in the future, someone sees a clerical error that I made at my office job and got started a whole religion based off of it. Our understanding of the past is barely an understanding of anything. That's what she used to say. She majored in History in school and She was so obsessed with the way we could learn from our past mistakes.
But in the end, neither of us learned from our respective pasts. I miss talking to Her about this stuff. I kind of feel like I won't find someone on the same wavelength as me, someone that will love me the way I want to be loved and it's scary because I don't think I'll get to have that again.
She used to make lists. Like, a lot of lists. About anything. One time, She made a list was like, How to Properly Go Food Shopping, and Ways to Make the Work Week More of a Week and Less of a Work (this one didn't make any sense, it just had things on it that said something like "don't forget you're human").
[written in the margins] So here's a list I came up with. It's a little dumb and I know she'd probably make a better list when it comes to ways to get over losing me. She's always been better than me at this kind of stuff.
Ways to get over her, or ways not to:
- Get out of the house for at least an hour a day (not incl. work)
- Write it out as much as you can.
- Try and meet new people.
- Remember she'd want you to move on.
- Call your friends and talk it out.
- Call your friends and talk about something other than Her.
- Spend your nights doing something other than looking at all the old Polaroids of the both of you that you haven't burned in a sad, drunken state.
- Drink the thoughts away.
- Don't drink the thoughts away as often as you'd like to.
- Keep making lists. Carry her with you all the time (don't do that, or do)
- Play guitar again, she always liked that.
- Stop staring at the scars on your thighs from the dashboard.
- Visit the makeshift memorial at the telephone pole by her old apartment once a month instead of once a day.
- Remember she'd want you to move on.