He asked me to be his on the night of February 5th 2005, as he leaned to kiss me for the very first time in the park right across his family’s apartment.
Never, not even for one second, did I think we would be together for so long when I told him I would love to be with him. I never thought he would become a part of me. I never expected him to become a part of my family. I would have never imagined we would travel the world together, from east to west and from north to south. I certainly never pictured him getting on one knee and asking the question I didn’t know I would long so much for.
Funny enough, I never thought we would break up either.
A few days ago we would have celebrated our eleventh anniversary. Eleven years in which we did all of the above and plenty more. Eleven years in which we both grew as persons. Eleven years in which we eventually grew apart too.
As I saw that date in my calendar coming closer and closer, I began to wonder about the what if’s and might have been’s.
What if we hadn’t broken up?
Would I still be planning our wedding right now?
Would we finally live together after all these years?
Would he come to Canada or would I move elsewhere to be with him?
Would I be as happy as I once thought I could be?
I wondered if he would remember the date, just like I had. He is the most thoughtful person I have ever met, of course he would remember the date. I wondered if he would write me a beautiful e-mail or send me a gift that I would immediately love. I wondered if my gift, whatever it could have been, would match up to his.
And then I began wondering if he thought about me everyday as I did. I wondered if he knew I still thought of him the minute I woke up. I wondered if he thought of me when he saw fireworks or played with a cat. I wondered if he thought about me when the radio played a song I used to know and most likely sing along to it. I wondered if he thought about me when he signed a paper with the quill pen I once gave him. I wondered if he thought about me when he had a creamy dish or a dry wine. I wondered if he still thought of me or if he had buried me deep down in his heart.
As I scrolled through pictures of the past few months, or the first few months without him, I wondered what he thought of them, assuming he had seen them in the first place, that is.
Would he only see the red cups, the smiles, the poses, the sights, the crowd, the ‘Me’ who has seemingly moved on and is now enjoying life? Or would he see past that? I wondered if he knew that before fixing myself that drink I had spent a few minutes thinking of the first time I tried that cocktail, back at the bar we used to go all the time. I wondered if he knew that behind that smile was a story that I would have loved to share with him. I wondered if behind the crazy pose he would realize that I was alluding a TV show we used to watch in bed. I wondered if the sights would remind him of the many times we walked around this city or how many times I would take a picture till I had taken the perfect one. I wondered if he knew that the crowd in those pictures kept hearing stories about him in an effort to help me keep my shit together when all I wanted was to cry till I died.
Eleven years ago I never thought I would ever find myself doing things without him. Yet here I am, a few days past our anniversary date. Alone. It’s time to face reality: We will never do things together anymore.
Or perhaps we will.
If anything, we will do one last thing. We are learning how to move on. We are learning how to move on from this relationship. And even though we are apart, and even though we are not in contact, we are moving on together. We are moving on, from what we were, from what we knew, and we are doing it together.
In the aftermath of our eleventh anniversary, this is the last thing we will do as a couple. We will move on from us.
