I had a dream about you last night. I watched as you kissed a good friend of mine. I had a dream about you the night before too. I saw you at a party from afar, and I secretly hoped you would notice me. But you didn’t.
I don’t know why you’re suddenly so present in my mind. It’s been almost a year, so I should be fine…and I am…most of the time.
This happens in waves sometimes. I’ll go months without giving you a single thought, but one thing happens–a dream, the smell of the cologne you used to wear, a resurfaced memory, or a picture flashing across my screen–and I’m sucked back into my mind where the same memories and questions torment me for days at a time.
I can’t help but wonder if this happens to you, too. Do I cross your mind every once in awhile? Or are you completely happy with your life without me in it?
I’m content with mine since we parted ways. I don’t believe that things would be better if that one thing had never happened a year ago. I’m in a good place, even though it may have taken me a while to get here, and I genuinely hope you are too. We saved ourselves from a toxic spill that would only have spread until it dissolved everything in its wake.
But when I think back on our time together, I do not remember the toxins; I think of the incense. I dwell on the good times, the healthy times, the naive times, the exciting times. Those are the thoughts that haunt me.
“It’s not the bad memories that tear a person apart. It’s the good ones.”
–Jennifer Lyn Barns.
Sometimes I can’t tell if I miss you or the memories I have of you. I can’t tell if I miss standing in front of you, or the photographs that captured those moments in which I was. That’s the thing about photographs–they capture a moment. They don’t save it. Each photo comes equipped with its own baggage. When looked upon, it transports you back into that moment. You remember the situation, the setting, the conversations, the feelings you had at the time. However, that snapshot of a moment in time can never be perfectly recreated. You can never successfully feel the exact same emotions as you did when that picture was being taken. You can never be the exact same person you used to be.
My point is, no matter how hard we may have tried or how little we try now, we will never be able to go back to the way we felt in those old pictures. I have come to terms with that. So I’d rather think about those original pictures, messages, and memories, than wish for them to still be happening. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss them. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss my best friend. Even though I’ve moved on with my life and am finally okay, is it so wrong to miss a time when I was happiest?
I’m not quite sure why I decided to write this. Perhaps it’s because I am a writer. This is how I deal with things. Maybe I’m hoping for some new layer of closure to come of this. Maybe I’m hoping you’ll read it and think of me for even a moment.
I genuinely hope that you are doing well and wish you all the best in life, even if that happiness does not involve any trace of me. If that’s the case, we never got to say goodbye. So thank you for giving me those blissful snapshots to look back on. I’m sorry for spilling my portion of the toxins that ultimately destroyed us. But most importantly, thank you for teaching me what pure happiness is.