I thought you died today!
Seriously! I thought, for a moment, that you were lying somewhere on your death bed having just expired your last breath. I jumped to that conclusion when I was asked by a friend (in a sober, quiet, and bated voice) if I had: "...heard what had happened to you today?" WHAT HAPPENED!? Oh, you had a baby and a friend wanted to make sure I was up to date so I didn't find out through some other source. OK. Phew!
It's been a while since I've thought about you. You make regular appearances in my sub conscious, and you pop up in dreams from time to time, but generally I'm concentrating on the most recent guy in my life. Unless, of course, something out of the ordinary happens that reminds me of you. But, seriously, I don't give you a lot of rental space in my brain. Your memory has slowly started to fade out, like a black Tee shirt that's been washed so much it turns a dark charcoal and loses its original, powerful, black.
Thinking about you dead made me very sad and that caught me off guard. I remember (two summers ago, when we first decided to really not talk to each other ever again) I would bike home from work late at night. I'd be biking up a really steep hill to get on the Queensboro Bridge and I'd think about you as a character in my brain that I liked to torture so as to take my mind off of how awful it was to bike that hill. I'd imagine all the things I could say and I'd scream them at you in my brain. I'd hurl insults and create terrifically embarrassing scenarios to put you in and I'd watch, in my imagination, as you were peed on by a goat and then kicked in the nuts. Or, I'd wistfully place you in a moment when you somehow ran in to me on the street after I started dating Justin Timberlake and I'd pretend I didn't see you and you'd look so downtrodden that the paparazzi following us would notice and then do a very embarrassing interview with you right there on the street, and as they do it a pigeon would shit on your face.
You know, that kinda' thing, it'd help me bike up the hill.
Thinking about you being dead today was not fun. Not at all. Even though you're in another phase of your life and we don't talk anymore and I'm very happily not married to you; I still wish you health and safety. I wish you happiness and fulfillment. I wish you the life you want to live.
Isn't it funny how death can make us all the same? Like, in war times, when one is in the trenches, it really doesn't matter who has more money or fame or a happy family life, we can all die just like the next guy. And death is a means of measuring how much a person can really mean, can't it? Death can make a memory of someone precious, when before, when that person was alive, that memory was never really recalled or treasured.
So, I guess, what I'm trying to say is: I really care about you, even after all of the horrifically awful heartbreaks we put ourselves through. I mean, I'm glad we're not together, but there is still a place in my heart that loves you and wishes you all the best.
I'm really glad you're not dead.
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