A Life Once Lived

I try to picture his face in my mind.

I can't.

The things I used to know so well - the patterns his beard grew in, the shape of his earlobes, even the colour of his eyes are now lost in my memory.

This man that I knew as well as my own reflection is now a complete stranger. I look at his face in old pictures and all that remains is vague familiarity and regret.

I still love him, or at least the idea of him.

Our life together, our four years together has now broken down to humorous stories of a life once lived and a few phrases that we had created in partnership, rolling off my tongue from some imbedded muscle memory.

I closed the chapter on him almost immediately, unconsciously erasing him from myself in some vague effort to rid the pain of throwing our life together away. The regret is for who I was to him, and to myself.

I was a selfish child.

I wish I could go back armed with everything I now know, back to that life, back to that body, back to that Him.

I'm vulnerable.

I hate admitting that.

I wish I could remember the patterns his beard grew in, the shape of his earlobes, even the colour of his eyes.

I'm so sorry.