I walked into an empty apartment and the first thing that it reminded me of was a corpse. The body remained but all of the life had been filtered out. All that remained was meaningless without the rest. I sat down on the couch and cried. Because there was no one there to greet me, I did so alone. I listened to the silence, the dull hum of the refrigerator, the soft voices emanating from a television somewhere below. I knew that this was my fault, my burden to bear. In that moment what I felt most was not sadness, although it was there, or regret, even though it choked me, or fear, what I felt was relief. Because although I had a corpse to deal with at least the suffering had ended.
She had left me a pillow and a blanket, a towel. These may seem like silly things to be thankful for but I was thankful for them. The broom and whatever was in the fridge or the closet, the couch, the stupid dresser, all of those things meant nothing to me but the pillow and the blanket, that was something. We bought the blanket in Mexico for seven dollars. The smell reminded me of the past.
As I lay in the dark listing to the rain I could see everything so clearly. What had gone wrong, why things had ended badly, how it all could have been avoided. The clarity that we had searched for suddenly enveloped me, but to late. I kept thinking about the first time I knew I would be with her. I kept thinking about her dress and her eyes. The way she had her arms wrapped around the back of my neck when she said “Isn’t it fun to be with me?” How I though it was so much more than just that. I can still fell that moment like it happened only yesterday. Yet all the time between that moment and this is just a blur. Two years and then a fork in the road.
I once wrote that things never really end. They just pause and then wait until they can begin again. I though about that too, if it applied to my situation. And I believe it does. Although the incarnation of that love, that fierce blinding thing, has passed, there will be more. There will be something else. The scar we had produced is to cavernous not to be filled with something. The pieces of a broken bond floating out in the ether will eventually reorganize and perpetuate into something else. Nothing ever really ends. I think that is true. But is does change. It falls apart and then someone uses the pieces to build something new.