I had a different plan for today. I had a different blog post for today. And seriously, tune in next week on Sunday because it’s lovely – cute and uplifting and warm and happy and Stuart’s drawn a gorgeous image to go with it. I had a very different plan for today.
I came home from a weekend with friends to find my ex had packed up all his stuff. It’s cool, it was expected. I knew it was happening. What I didn’t know, until I walked in the door, was just how hard the realisation would hammer me: this is very very very much The End.
As I say, I had a different plan for today. Come home, check what was gone and therefore what I might need to replace, smash through some work that’s been itching at the back of my brain, go for a walk, cook dinner, watch some delightfully terrible film… then bed.
Instead bed came first, after coffee with the friends who’d dropped me off, who stayed just long enough to make sure I wouldn’t collapse. Then walk. Then bed again. Mostly sitting on the edge of the bed realising he’ll never come to it with me ever again. Then standing in the corner of a room filled with his boxes, wondering what he’ll do next with his life, and miserable that I likely will not know.
I don’t get to be beside him any more, not ever. I will not be the person he emails, or the one that he calls when he’s down. I will never again be the first person to hear his good news. He will never tell me how his day was, with the casual ease of someone who knows I know the backstory.
He took the cocktail shaker: he will never make me another margarita.
He took his clothes: I will never get to borrow his hoodies again. Bury my face in the shoulder of his t-shirts again. Send emails which tell him my vagina and I had a conference and decided those trousers were the sexiest ones that he owns.
He took the kitchen speaker – the one we blasted loudly as we danced like twats around the kitchen.
He will never ever dance with me again.
There are loads more things he did not take: the sunloungers he bought for us to use together, the TV we watched together, the sofa we so frequently fucked upon. And every single one of these things punches me in the gut with memories of everything we did and now – absurdly, urgently – the things we did not do. Every single day of the future I’d imagined, and hoped for, and looked forward to, has disappeared in a space of time so short it takes my breath away.
Roughly this time last year, when we were having problems, he went to stay somewhere else for a little while. Space, peace, calm: I was excited to have the house to myself. Before he left we sat and chatted, shared a hug. Told each other we loved each other, and we wanted to work this out. All the while, inside I was fizzing with desperation to be alone. I couldn’t wait to have those moments to myself – to breathe out, calmly, and remember who I was without him there.
The second he closed the front door, I crumbled.
It was like someone had knocked all the air out of my lungs. I sat on a bench in the garden and tried – and failed – to catch my breath. The weight and intensity and power of the sudden absence of him had me reeling like I’d fallen four stories and landed on my back.
I miss him so fucking much. But the ‘him’ that I miss isn’t the guy he is now. I don’t know this guy. He’s a weird absence of person, spiky emails and half-told-stories from conversations with mutual friends. The guy I loved exists on these pages and in my memory and somewhere back in the past. I can’t pinpoint the moment he left, but he did.
I think I need some time to mourn the loss of him. This guy I loved with my whole soul, for nearly a decade of my life. With whom I had such plans, such love, and so much fucking fun. He’s gone, that guy, and I don’t know where. But I need to mourn him now, I think, or I’ll end up chasing him forever.
I had a different plan for today. Instead I’m going to sit in the garden watching the sun go down, letting every atom that makes up who I am wish that the guy I loved so hard might walk back in the front door and just hold me.
Like I know he will never do again.
Please don’t ask if I’m OK – sadness makes good content, and although I’m not OK right now, I will be soon. I promise.