absinthe makes the heart grow fonder

I found out via email this morning that Emily is getting married. I’m not sure why the news affected me as much as it has, but my stomach immediately tightened up. I decided to take a half-day off work. I’ll go home and relax, drink wine and watch the rain fall.

Every time I’ve thought about her in the last two years I’ve had this same feeling.

Anger. Regret. Confusion. Longing.

I don’t think of myself as someone who lives in the past. Perhaps packing up my car and moving 3000 miles away wasn’t as good a closure as I thought it would be. I still think it was the only thing I could do at the time that made any sense.

Perhaps I’m just bitter. Of the two relationships I’ve fully committed myself to as an adult, one ripped me apart in France and the other has, one way or another, been quietly gnawing at me now for nearly two years. I don’t know why I haven’t just let go and moved on. I’ve tried and it hasn’t worked, and I don’t know why that is either.

Sometimes trying to be self-aware is such a nuisance. And yet I remain a romantic, despite myself.