I Still Wear His Hoodie

I still wear H’s hoodie to bed even though it lost any semblance of warmth years ago. He and I had more magic than a starry sky. He’s the only man I regret losing because we were like doppelgangers. Strip us of our bodies and you’d struggle to tell us apart, which translated into more chemistry than you could find in a thousand laboratories.

When we were together, there were no hours; only dreams. Time always moved too fast with us, but then one day it stopped. It took me years to stop missing him and even more to create enough denial to convince myself it no longer mattered.

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I’ve looked at our relationship from a thousand different angles. Lord knows I’ve had the time. The thing that broke us was mended long ago, but we’ve stayed away from each other anyway because after you fall off a cliff, you make damned sure you don’t step over the railing again. We did a fine job of that until yesterday.

I’m struggling to write this because all my thoughts and feelings are stopped up in my throat. He wants to meet, and I can’t untangle his message well enough to figure out why. What he said was overwhelmingly flattering. I’ve been trying to put my reaction to that into words since yesterday, but I’m getting nowhere. I’m only writing what I’m *not* feeling because to address positive instead of negative space could send me all the way over that cliff again.

I wrote a book about him once, but now I can’t even drum up an honest sentence: All I have are clichés and lies:

He doesn’t matter.

I never loved him.

What we had was meaningless.

I will never want him again.

I could come up with another hundred fallacies, but the truth of it is I’ve already stepped over the railing.

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