Today while moving photos onto Boudica (my new computer) from various flash drives, I came across a photo of someone I once loved. And just for a moment, that old pain flared in my chest. For a moment, I sifted through the ashes of that relationship and wondered what would have happened if I can done this or she had done that or we had simply loved each other more.
For a few moments, I dined on regret. I tasted her lips, I remembered a glorious day in Wintersmith Park walking in the snow, and I missed her -- hungered for her smile -- like all the years between didn't exist.
But I also remembered how it ended. How we couldn't simply walk away. Couldn't part as friends. How we weren't satisfied until every good memory was tainted, until our love turned into something remarkably like hate, until we stopping fighting more out of exhaustion than choice.
Now, we exchange Christmas cards. She moved to another state. She has a new life as do I. Sometimes around holidays, we run into each other. Awkward smile, a slow intake of breath, a need to part again before we find ourselves saying hateful things and falling back into hateful habits that we both have chosen to forsake.
For few moments, her photo lingered on my screen.
And then I hit delete.
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2 comments:
They say if you don't love it, need it, or use it, it's best to delete it. Sounds like you made a good choice.
(These capchas are going to kill me. I cannot read them.)
That's good advice, but surprisingly hard to do. Sometimes we're loyal to our pain.
(I usually hit the button several times until I get one I can understand. Or use the audio.)
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