Dear Ex Lover

Do you think of me?

When you hold her in your arms, do you remember the curve of my waist?  The scent of my hair?  When you kiss her, do you remember the way our lips fit perfectly?  Do you remember the freckles beneath my eyes, and the way you cupped your hands around my ears to warm them one night in the cold autumn rain?  When you come home to her, do you remember coming home to me?  Slipping in behind me while I worried over your cooking dinner, wrapping your arms around me, and pressing your lips to the back of my neck?



There are twelve days left until you board a plane that will take you to a distant, war-torn land.  Twelve days left until you find yourself alone in a bed far from your home.  I can't help but wonder, who will you think of? Will you long for her company, or mine?  Will you remember the nights you spent with her?  Or will you remember that I was the only person you trusted to guard your secrets?  Will you regret that it took you so long to find her?  Or that you broke both our hearts without a backward glance?

There was a time when I thought I'd never know a touch that wasn't yours.  There was a time when I thought I would belong to you forever.  Maybe a part of me will.  But only a tiny bit.

It is a bittersweet ache, knowing that your lips are no longer the first, last and only ones mine have kissed.  In one instant, on a sofa in the dark, two new lips erased your claim to my heart.  I didn't expect it to happen.  I even tried to prevent it.  I clung desperately to the memory of you.  But you were gone, and he was there, and he said the most perfect things I've ever heard.  So by the time I noticed we were breathing the same air, I didn't want to pull away.  And when he moved to close the gap between us, I let him.  For that one, beautiful, perfect moment, all thoughts of you were banished from my mind.  It was heaven.

I used to map the scars on your hands.  I used to trail my fingers over your back after a long day.  I gave you so much love, and you took it greedily.  You caught it in cupped hands and demanded every last drop I had to offer.  Then, when you bled me dry, when there was nothing left to give, you tossed me aside like a crumpled paper cup.  Useless.  Broken.  Empty.

And now?  Now I'm learning a hard, exquisite truth:  Your first love isn't always the right one.

In two short months with him, I've been shown more respect and compassion than you could muster in four years.  It astounds me that I didn't even know these things were missing until I found them.  You may have left me a shell, but that feels like another life.  A different girl.  These days, I have never felt so full.  I wake every morning with a smile on my face.  I chart the freckles on his shoulders like stars, and he tucks my hair behind my ear, and I think of you less and less.

So I can't help but wonder... Do you think of me?  Or am I slipping away, like the fading fragments of an old dream?  Are you happy now, like I'm happy?  For all we shared, and all we weathered together, I hope you are.

I hope you treat her well.  I hope she makes you lift that one eyebrow, and smirk your most charming grin.  I hope she learns the map of your scars, and you learn to share the love you're given.  I hope you know that one tiny piece of me will always love you -- for being my incredible, tragic love story, and for setting me free when you saw that I was dying in your world.  I hope you know that I'm sorry for all I couldn't fix, and that I forgive you for all you broke.  But most of all, I hope you know that I've finally let you go.  I hope you know I'm well.