There is some fading sadness about it in my life. We were in almost constant contact for nine months. And I feel the loss of that communication every morning, when I don't get my "wake-up" text. I really cared for him, and he cared for me. And maybe still does, I don't know. There are times when I wish I could call him and tell him every thought I have thought since the end of our speaking, because it feels like those thoughts belong to him as well. But I suppose like all other exes, I must pack up the memories into a box and shove them into a corner where they can tarnish and become less painful. I still have a few choice text messages that I can't bear to delete, but I will have to soon, or they will only hold me back.
That being said, I am extremely grateful it happened. I had some of the best days of my life then. I can still sometimes feel his hugs. I know that I will move on, and that time is coming rapidly, but for now I am stuck in what Steinbeck called the "hour of pearl", a transition so fragile anything might rip it.
I don't know what else to say, really. I don't even know why I write this really, except that this inner self, the part that was head over heels, needs to mourn in the open for a little while. So, here I am, I guess.
Waiting for time to pass.