The aftermath
And with a quiet, gentle whisper our relationship slipped from present to past tense.
The night that my cat was put down earlier this year, I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want the day to end, because it was the last day that he was alive and walking on this earth. I thought, if I just stay awake forever then he will always remain in the present tense, and it will always be his last day in my life. But the sun set, and the moon rose, and I fell asleep as I was always meant to do, and he stayed frozen on that day. It absolutely shredded me to wake up the next day, to look into his room and see his empty chair. He was 17.
Today feels similar in many ways. Today was the last day that I am his girlfriend; tomorrow will be the first day that he will be just my friend. These things which are final and strange feel too definite sometimes, but with this I feel a sense of renewal. It’s almost like new years day, but instead of a fresh start that feels light and airy and full of hope, instead I feel caked in mud. Battered, bruised and exhausted.
The conversation itself was quiet. Soft, respectful, careful, measured, and compassionate. He was not surprised, and he was feeling similar feelings. Neither of us fought, but instead we agreed. Neither were angry, but only grateful. And sad.
So, the line in the sand has been drawn.
I have lots of grand plans for my future. Painting, sunshine, flowers, picnics, learning and study. I have a semester of work to finish for uni, and then it’s Christmas. I look toward all these things eagerly, from within my murky fish-bowl.
For the time being, though, I’m just going to be sad for a bit. Let it hurt, let it wash over me in waves. Be still, and soft, and supple in the downpour and let my heart slowly re-grow new flowers where the dead ones have been.
It’s nice that we can talk in tenses. Sometimes the best way to really see something is to look at it in posterity, we Bear’s know this to be true - that’s why we write these little love letters to ourselves detailing our thoughts and our experiences. I know that with distance I will look back on these past 10 years kindly, with joy and comfort. I just have to step back far enough so I can see it in its entirety, and to really appreciate the vastness of it. To see how much we have changed, and grown, and lived in that decade of our lives.
There’s a saying, you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. I think it’s true, but it’s not a bad thing. Distance gives us perspective, and time really does soothe all wounds. I have to believe that.
I’m ready to see it all, to kiss it softly on its closed eyes and then send it off in the wind.