This can’t be real, says the voice in my head. This part of me, this part of my soul and my body cannot be leaving, cannot be separating from me in such a way, cannot be moved from me. The longest we’ve ever been apart is a week, maybe two, every other moment in the last 12 or so years of this lifetime spent almost close enough to touch.
My heart doesn’t feel the parting emptiness it should, and my mind is left confused.
I should be hollowed, vastly echoed by him leaving, by the acts of taking stuff to his new place, and packing that drawer I haven’t touched since Vivian was 2 months old or so. I should feel as if I’m missing a limb, and gape at the awe and pain I feel.
I knew him you see, somehow. I’ve always known him, my heart has always recognized itself in another body and to be away from each other, to imagine a morning where I’ll wake up and he’ll be gone like a ghost, a pale memory on dirty sheets…it’s a pain I’ve been sheltering myself from, a future I’ve been refusing to really see.
I don’t fear being alone. I feel being bereft.
I want to be able to stand up and say I don’t love him. But that would be lying. Every inch of my body loves him, that person inside I first loved, that person who may not even exist anymore. But has that ever been enough?