I feel restless. The past few days I’ve felt drawn out. Searching for something. I impulsively purchased a rug at Ross even. Weird. I’m not really much of a shopper.

Tonight, I remembered what S’s skin felt like under my finger tips. Pressed up to my cheek. This time I wasn’t sad, only grateful. For the memory of a sensation long past and yet accessible.

I’ve considered sex with new men but it’s not appealing. Ultimately, at least at this point, it would be a disappointment because it wouldn’t be him. I’ve never trusted any other man with my secret pleasures. I’ve enjoyed things with him that I couldn’t even discuss. I’m keeping all his secrets. He was so sexy. And so tragically flawed. 

I see that people wonder if I’ve forgotten the troubling things we went through together. I haven’t. But it’s my memory, and I dont see the value of dwelling on the dramatic preamble to the end. I loved the man. Im preserving the good he was for our son. What good could come of focusing on the shadow left from the wake of his addiction?

I feel different since this anniversary of his death. That trip really had an affect on me. I think it’s because of a sudden realization I had after I finished peaking.  I thought to myself, “I didnt do what I set out to do.” Which was listen to Monster and relive the moment I first told him I loved him. Then it hit me like a cool breeze. “This isn’t just about S. It’s about me. And it’s okay that this unplanned conversation happened because it made me happy.” I had a lot of meaningful insights that night. 

• S & I are seperate people
• I know who I am
• S is in this apartment with me always everywhere I am because what’s left of him resides in the memories of those who love him.
• I have friends; more than I actually count
• I can take care of myself but I still need people sometimes to be okay
• I’m a good person/mom/employee
• I’m not a victim. I’m a badass.
• I’m okay.
• S’s dads perspective of my realationship with S is completely irrelevant because he wasn’t in it.