There's a certain sickening memory that pulls you from inside out and makes you want to catch your breathe for fear of suffocation.
A memory embedded deep you hate to admit, feels like the last time yo were ecstatically happy.
He's memory is tainted on my walls, the scent of Christmas night invades my mind with his face. He was my last Happy. He was the last time I considered forever.
He came from no where. Swept the wind from under me, and left too quickly with a little promise for future. He was the last time I uttered love.
And now, 3 years later, he is married and I am still here. In the same house. In the same bedroom with lame pictures of Paris on the walls and an empty double bed.
Summer reminds me of how my fear of deep water evaporated when I was with him. Summer reminds me, of being on holidays and spending every waking moment doing nothing, and savouring the hours just by kissing.
And summer reminds me of what I don't have any more. This is my third summer alone. Alone. The words uttered in cursed silence by the family. The pity and question mark their crooked smiles as they greet me with Christmas cheer. Little Sister introduced BF to the family this Christmas. I braved the questionable glances as to why Big Sister is still single. Questions of career, acting, 'friends' are all a way around the one thing they all want to know. "Is there anyone of special significance in your life?" In other words, "Please reassure us that you are normal and will not be the awkward 40 year old spinster".
I don't care about my single status. It is the choice I have made for right now. I could date about 3 guys right now. But I know I would settle.
And if I am this ok in my mind, then why do I want BM to be something more?
I want you to be what I want.
And so Christmas, Boxing Day, NYE, all remind me I am Still. Single.
And I remind myself. I. Don't. Care.
Even if I do, a little.