December 2, 2018
I woke up with that sinking feeling in my stomach. The reminder that he was gone. That I had let him go. That I had lost him. The emptiness slowly fogged my heart. I thought about every morning before this one over the past few months. Where I'd wake up and crave him. Where I'd check my phone for his messages before I was even fully prepared to open my eyes. Where I'd beg to wake up next to him. Just to feel his touch, his warmth, his embrace. Today I felt deprived.
Even a pretence of him still being mine couldn't be formulated. It was etched into my brain. He didn't want me around. Not anymore. It hurt thinking about his absence. But he wouldn't have it.
I had made up my mind to leave him a message. He always loved my voice. It felt wrong to call him. But he listened, just like I asked him to. To say the very least, I was disappointed. He really doesn't need me around. And to think that he said he wouldn't leave? No. How could I be so selfish? This is all my fault. My fault. I jeopardized everything.
Now I could never see the day we took care of each other. I could never see him off to play with our boys. I could never experience the weekends that we'd send the boys away just to spend time together. And he would never be waiting for me at the end of the aisle.
And nothing would come close to his love.
I guess he was my last chance at love. I had run low on fuel to keep fighting. That gypsy was right when she said I shouldn't follow my heart. She said it would never work out. My palms said it all. It was just never meant to be. She also told me my lifeline wasn't like the others she had seen. It had stopped far too short. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe all the death I pledged upon myself was a prophecy of my demise. I can't say for sure, but his love, his heart. I would've held it for the last time.