Tonight I Can Write

              On Thursday morning, I ran across newly posted photos of FWB on his Facebook. In the picture, he and his rock climbing buddies had made an early evening excursion to the Dentelles de Montmirail and they were all together smiling as the sun went softly down below the edge of green horizon. He was smiling wide as usual.

              I crave that smile the way I crave air, I yearn for the way he made me laugh and how much fun we had together. I love how I felt like a flower blossoming, petals unfurling beneath the sun with him and basking in the warmth and beauty of the day. I miss how absolutely, downright goofy he is and just what weirdos we could be together. How he drove his little Saxo through the winding backroads of the Vaucluse hidden behind a pair of Ray-bans smiling ever wider.

             Tonight I can write ( not the saddest lines ).

             Tonight I miss a memory and let the dew fall to the pasture.
 
             Tonight I know a photo can make you miss someone, that in all of the eighteen months you've known him, with whom you've in reality only shared about four weeks in face to face presence.

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             Like a phantom my heart is haunted by the ghosts of what could've been, not black and deep with regret, but with the ephemeral transparence of the what if, of the we-were-too-young, of the you-are-still-too-selfish, of the I-made-the-mistake-of-giving, giving, giving out of my fault-fully generous nature. Of the you-might-never change.

             I walk through the grey pavement of this beautiful city and I think that I do not regret you. Not one bit. But I think about how you will regret you. Maybe not about me. About the what-if that you let slip away. About the stars spinning in the sky over an illuminated city when we are different people.

             When I see the Seine running cold I want to write about how I miss you, but about how I know I cannot go back to you. You need to grow up. You need to learn to give more. Maybe this is because you are an only child, and nothing has ever impeded you. And you refuse to let anything, even a woman, change your mind. I hold it not against you. But one day the you that you are now will look back and wonder, perhaps, and I will be a different person. One not so willing to miss you, and one not so willing to fight to keep you. One much wiser and less willing to depreciate her own value.

              I am not sure you will change. I know I will.

              Maybe this story is over, maybe it is not. But I am writing it, and tonight I can write.

              Tonight I can write that yes, I miss you, and it is ok to miss you. But one day I will not miss you anymore, and then you might finally miss me. These are not the saddest lines I will ever write, but they are perhaps some of the most nostalgic.

              Tonight I can write.