Heartbreak

I think that I'm over this, that the worst of the devastating pain is past.  And then things hit me, sharp and intense, and it's all fresh again, fresh as that night.

I was going through papers.  I thought that I'd been through all the visa papers, but of course not.  There was a whole additional folder, Michael's birth certificate... all the things we so carefully organized... everything from those days.  The transfer of deed to this house to both of our names.  All of the things that were bright and shiny and hopeful six years ago. 

And I just want to say...
I forget sometimes how much I loved you, and how angry I am at you, and how sad.  I think that I can do things that keep the core of that connection between us, like wearing your ring.  And it feels right for a while, but then it's this again, the pain and the horror and the anger.  I loved you.  I didn't do everything right those last months, but I never stopped loving you, not really.  I was just so desperate, and I couldn't breathe, and I didn't want to drown.  I would give anything to make you understand these things... not to bring you back, not to go back to an impossible past, but to make you understand, to wrap you in that love, to say goodbye properly.  Except that's the problem.  I couldn't say goodbye to you; I couldn't stay so close and still let you go. 

These games I play with other people are just that.  They're the diversion from the real thing, and the real thing is this endless pain.  The real thing has always been you.