“I miss you when I can’t sleep, or right after coffee. Or right when I can’t eat, I miss you in the front seat. Still got sand in my sweaters, from nights we don’t remember. Do you miss me like I miss you?”
Of course you don’t. It’s been less than a year. And you’re married. And you’re moved. And you’ve been over me for so long.
And I’d say it hurts but most of the time I feel numb. Like you’d imagine Leprosy feels. Open cuts that fester but no receptors to feed that information to your brain.
“The ways of the wicked are deep darkness, they don’t know what makes them stumble.” In his sermon this weekend, Pastor Mark mentioned that verse and then talked about forming new habits. But saying… “the keys to change are not by acts of the will, but by loves of the heart.”
And I think that’s why change is happening in me. Because even though your heart loves another. Even though your heart has not just resigned but is excited to be betrothed to someone else. My heart still finds itself stubbornly struggling over you. And my head tries so hard to fight it. And my spirit tries so hard to will it. But that heart. It drives me mad with thoughts of you.
Driving down the highway I see a Jack & Jill truck and I think of Give Into The Mint and Tiffany. And every song I hear. Everything I see and do. It all comes back to you. I once thought I’d write a list of things that reminded me of you, but that list became too long. Because it all reminds me of you.
And I drove by our stomping grounds this weekend. I was sad. I missed you and I missed my parents. And we spread his ashes at Roosevelt. So I came back to Kings Grant, avoiding your old condo because I wasn’t sure if you’d moved yet. And I missed you. Like I do every single day. And now you’re officially gone. And despair sets in like a long drive. And settles like fog over a cemetery.
I hate you. I love you. But I don’t hate you. I just love you. And I hope that one day you might forgive me please. That you might reach out to me and tell me that you do. I know you won’t. But just know that even though you’re married now. I’ll always consider you my wife. To me, you’ll always be Eliza Entrekin. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t honor you when I had the chance. You are loved and adored. You are more beautiful than ever. And my heart remains. I know you don’t want it. And frankly part of me doesn’t want it to be the case anymore either. But it remains.