I still wear your old trackies to bed. I still dream the old dream you are next to me. I still cuddle my pillow pretending it’s you. I still love you and our little old family. I still imagine our wedding. I still listen to your songs and I’m still proud of you. I still smell you. I still see your face in the street. It may not be you but it still makes me still.
It’s been ten years, and I thought I’d moved on, but lately, thoughts of you have crept back in. I don’t know if I’ll ever love someone else the way I love you, and I wonder if you ever think of me. I don’t want to live the rest of my life with your ghost, but I don’t know how to reach you… or how to say I was wrong. P.S. after all this time, our dog still looks for you when someone says your name.
I mistook your arrogance for confidence and rudeness for honesty. I saw you as a tortured soul rather then the jerk you are. Now I’m older and wiser, but I know if I ever see you again, I’ll fall right back in love with you. So stay away.
Whenever I try to hate you, I can’t help but remember that night we first made love. You were so gentle, asking me over and over if I was ok. You held me so tightly afterwards, and when I awoke in the morning, you were right there. I’ll never look back on it with regret, and I will always love you for that. Thank you.
Every time I see your name come up on my phone, I think for a millisecond that you’re finally going to tell me that you love me and you can’t stand to live another minute without telling me. And I’ll always be wrong.
The worst part is thinking it might always be like this. It might never get easier. That one day ten years from now, I’ll see you in a grocery store line and be afraid to say hi because you might ask me how I’ve been.
I can’t shake the feeling that if just one little thing had gone differently, I would not be here, sitting alone, writing a ‘Dear Old Love’ note about how much I wish just one little thing had gone differently.