I can’t pretend that I don’t think about you day in and day out. Or that this feeling of pain doesn’t exist. Maybe I don’t bring myself to actually think of what you might be doing, but memories float freely into my ether.
I can’t pretend that I don’t miss your voice. Or your smile. Or your eyes. Or your arms. That somehow I will feel so protected again. That I’d feel impossibly beautiful and fierce.
I can’t pretend that I don’t think of you every time I lie in bed. In the sheets that you bought us. Wondering if you still have my purple toothbrush somewhere in your brand new apartment. Maybe you think about it lying in the corner of your toiletries box as you’re watching TV and snuggling in her arms.
I can’t pretend that I’m not hurt. So deeply wounded. That I didn’t think of you when I flat out refused to give money to a hungry man because I have lost all trust in the world. That part of my hurt at work was hurt transfered from you. Even during a great game, I couldn’t stop wondering what would happen if you were there with me.
I can’t pretend that everything in my apartment and everywhere I go, I’m reminded of you. Wondering if I’ll spot you in the corner. Maybe walking hand in hand with that someone. Smiling and happy that I’m no longer in your life.
I can’t. Because I think about you all the time. And I can’t stop it. No matter how hard I try and pretend that I’m all right and better off without you, I know I’m just lying to myself.
I loved you. And no pretending in the world will make that go away.
