Found Again

Prologue She’d finally gone; or more to the point I’d managed to exorcise her from my thoughts, from my consciousness, at least to a degree. Initially I’d managed to reach a stage where she wasn’t my every waking thought or the last thing that crossed my mind before I managed to descend into sleep; a sleep that invariably had her coursing through my dreams like a movie running on constant loop, an incessant reminder of how we had been, how good we were and how badly wrong it had gone. Eventually I stopped seeing her in impossible places. I stopped having minor heart attacks every time I saw someone who was tall and slim, with shoulder length chestnut hair that shone in the light. I stopped thinking I had heard her voice or her laugh when I knew, if I managed to think about it rationally, that it couldn’t possibly be her. Because she had left me. After about a year I had even started seeing other people but only occasionally and only casually, it was far too soon still to chance any kind of emotional attachment and besides, I didn’t make it easy for the people I dated. No one wants to be constantly compared to their predecessor and much as I didn’t do it deliberately, I still did it. On the rare occasions when I slept with someone else I couldn’t help remembering the way it was with her, the soft sounds she would make in the early stages of arousal, the way she could turn me on with a mere look or gesture. The way we knew each other’s bodies so intimately that it was almost impossible not to give each other the utmost pleasure, sometimes almost fighting to be the person to give the most, to be the least selfish, although there is in itself a selfishness in wanting to make the one you love scream your name in ecstasy. These memories made me distant to whomever I was sharing my bed with, made me aloof to any new experiences. I couldn’t embrace being with someone who wasn’t her, especially if there was a danger that these new emotions would replace her. I was a captive to my own grief; desperately needing to let her go as she had let me go, to move on as she had done; and yet to diminish my pain, to finally let it go would be to admit defeat. To force myself to admit that she was gone for good and was never coming back. I didn’t do myself any favours. After 2 years my broken heart, whilst still very tender, had started to mend. Oh I still thought about her on an almost daily basis; would still be reminded of her if I heard someone order a double espresso, or saw a dark haired woman driving a black & white Mini Cooper but on the whole I was finding myself again; was beginning to laugh more often. I was even starting to feel comfortable going to some of the places we used to go to; the club where we first met was still off limits but I had begun to revisit my favourite restaurants that I hadn’t used since her departure. In my darkest times I still wondered if there was something I could’ve said to make her stay, something I could’ve done differently maybe. I know the answer, but the question still begged to be asked sometimes. I know she still loved me when she left, I know it broke her heart too when I came home from work to find her bags packed in the living room; I know it took courage for her to hurt me and walk away from the love that we shared but apparently it took less courage than telling her parents that she was in love with another woman. 3 years is a long time to carry the burden of grief so totally, for it to be so all consuming. It actually takes an awful lot of energy to remain in a state of anger and devastation and so, after all that time and without even realising it I finally started to let go. She would still permeate my thoughts and dreams occasionally but less often and more fleetingly. I can’t say that I wasn’t initially devastated when I heard through a mutual friend that she was getting married but I didn’t let it crush me for long. I loved her and if she was happy in her choice then it would be cruel of me to wish her anything but the best. If I couldn’t be happy with her then I should at least be happy for her. Definitely progress. I even thought about sending a card or a present. This would have to be accomplished via our mutual friend; I wouldn’t trust myself to know her address in case the impulse to visit in person was too strong. I had mental images of me rushing up the aisle in a desperate last minute bid to halt the wedding. In the end though I just asked the friend to send my best wishes and left it at that. *