Green Apple Candle

I mentioned once in a post that I don’t usually remember what loving someone felt like because my memory fades fast. I can’t often hold onto the emotion itself, so I rely on photos and videos and writing I’d done in the past to relive moments. I depend on replaying memories in hopes of remembering how I felt at that exact point in time.

I’m having a hard time right now, because I’m beginning to forget what “loving you” felt like. I have few photos of you and the ones I do hide your face. I have no video and I’m forgetting the sound of excitement in your voice when you told stories about your family, the ocean or your plans for the future.

On one hand, I’m relieved, because you came into my world like a storm: strong, loud, and impossible to ignore. You so quickly made your home in my heart but seemingly just as fast, you decided my love wasn’t for you, and much like a storm, you vanished as rapidly as you arrived.

You left me so utterly confused. I was retracing moments, conversations, trying to figure out exactly where you made the decision to leave me. In what moment you no longer thought of my authenticity as brilliance, but emotionally draining.

There was some point in time where our compatibility and your desire to be with me trumped the work it took to maintain a relationship with someone like me. But maybe that’s just it. I was willing to comfort your moody soul and you weren’t willing to nurture my sensitive one.

Where there were once memories of countless naps in your large embrace and the smell of your green apple candle endlessly burning, there is now the memory of receiving your message telling me you’ve chosen someone else, and seeing them get on the bus at your stop moments later. There is cold text conversations and general aversion.

If it weren’t for these cyber memories I apparently can’t let go of, I would doubt that anything between us ever existed at all. But each time I return to those memories, each time I re-read an old message from you, some distance forms. It feels less like something I experienced and more like a conversation that took place between two seemingly perfect strangers.

He sent her “sometimes I feel like meeting you was my reward for everything kind I’ve ever done. I keep falling harder and faster, enjoying you more and more and you’re already so far off the scales. God bless everything that created you blank. I’m so happy to be sharing my life with you.” And she read the message and felt nothing. The butterflies asleep in her stomach, her heart maintaining a steady beat, the ducts of her eyes completely empty. And she thought: “this is what moving on feels like”.

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