Sometimes you miss the Memories, not the Person 

This August will be sixteen years since my first true love broke me beyond what I thought was repairable. I was heartbroken; at the same time, I had broken him. We were both broken beyond repair. All these years later…I find myself missing him. I miss the memories we shared, the memories only WE were able to create, the memories that can never be forgotten.

I miss the way he surprised me for our first Valentine’s Day with a massive balloon bouquet, so large that it would not fit in the school bus. I miss the passion of our love and the spontaneity of our teenage lust.  I miss walking hand in hand down the neighborhood streets. I miss the moment we found out we were pregnant. I miss the moment he saw our child move inside of me. I miss the way he would call me Valeria. I miss the way he stood by my side and held my hand while I was in agony during the birth of our daughter. I miss the moment he took me as his wife and promised me forever.

I miss the boy he was…not the man he became.

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This coming November, it will be ten years since my second marriage was mutually agreed to be dissolved. I miss the rose bouquet he had delivered for that very first Mother’s Day while we were still dating. I miss the memory of having someone lie on the sofa next to me while watching our son play on the carpet. I miss the way we would instantly say Chinese when discussing dinner options on the days I did not feel like slaving over the stove. I miss the days when I would come out of the shower, and SOS was cooking on the stovetop. Or the mornings he would get home from work, and would go straight into our son’s room and wake him up to have morning play time. 

I miss many things; I do not miss the MAN he was then nor now.

©Valerie