The one that got away

I try not to think of you much. Not these days, not anymore. I spent so much time teaching myself not to, that it seems a waste of time to undo it all now.

But, of course, I say "I try". I fail, sometimes. I let it all rush back to me. Sometimes, just sometimes, I let it. I know I'm gonna pay for it, I know the tears are going to well up in my eyes and I know I'll be angry with myself in the morning.

But sometimes I just have to.

You're not really 'the one that got away'. Losing something etails having it, and I never really had you, did I? Maybe I could have, maybe I should have. Maybe we were both too busy seeing solutions to realise we were trying to solve the wrong problem.

No, you're more 'the one who went away'. The one who disappeared. They all do, of course. But you're the only one who really mattered. You're the only one who really left an empty space. We forget, we learn to do without. We close the gaps, in the end.

The one you left is still open. I've put something in front of it, a large sheet or a tall drape. Something to hide the memory of what was there, block out the past. Out of sight, out of mind.

But I can't help but pull the drape back, every once in a while. And more often than not, it's not something I do consciously. There'll be a little memory, or an offhand comment that in no way relates to you. But it triggers something, a memory or a word. Or a smile.

And there you are.

I know where you are, of course. The fact that you're gone is just as much my doing as it is yours. I had to forget you, you see. I didn't want to. More than anything I'd have kept you. I do miss you.

But I had to be selfish. I couldn't keep opening that old wound. And I did every time I saw you. So I had to stop looking.

But I never stopped thinking. I never stopped imagening. I never stopped wondering.

I guess I never stopped believing. I guess maybe I never will.

Maybe, sometimes, love is destined to be tragic. True and deep and eternal. But tragic. Maybe sometimes it has to end in tears. Maybe some people are meant only to long for someone, and never actually posess them.

Or maybe I failed, somewhere. Maybe I stopped when I should have ran, drew back when I should have jumped. Maybe this is my own fault, in the end. Maybe 10, 20 more years down the line and I'll still be thinking this.

Maybe ... maybe, sometimes, they're meant to get away ...