Memories. Some of them are good. Some of them are just painful.
They can be good, yet painful at the same time.
I watched a movie 3 times this weekend. I have seen it before, but I needed to see it again. And again. It sort of made my heart feel better.
I wonder if I had the opportunity, could I and most importantly would I WANT to (I mean really, really WANT to) erase my memories from a relationship from my mind.
Everywhere I look, and everywhere I go, there he is.
Every other thought is of him.
I have no bad memories. No harsh words. We have never even really had a fight. All the memories are good, but when I wake up every morning, I don't want to think of him.
When I get in the shower, I don't want to try and count how many times his nakedness has been in there.
When I blatantly open his shower gel to remember how he smells, I don’t want to be reminded of him. Torture. That’s what it is. Self torture. The worst kind.
I get out of the shower, and scan all my lotions. Not the coconut. Not the brown sugar and fig, not the baby lotion. Nope..can’t use any of those. And definitely not the cherry blossom..all those smells are his. I can just hear him…mmmmmm..that smells nice.
When I am putting on my make up, I have to scoot out of his way, so that he can get ready too. I take the medicine cabinet mirror, and he takes the big one in front of the sink, so he can shave. I look at him, wearing only a towel. I watch him out of the corner of my eye while he puts on shaving cream.
I have always thought that watching a man shave is sexy.
I look down at the tattoo on my wrist. Fresh. Not even a month old.
A picture that he drew. "Baby Bear". --in reference to my complaining.
(It's too hot in here...next minute...damn, it's too cold in here...)
I laugh in spite of my crying heart.
It really is a nickname that I deserve. A nickname that he gave me.
I walk over to my closet. There is his Mets shirt—I pick it up and smell it.
My eyes start to water. I quickly wipe the tears and try to focus.
I am trying to get myself together here.
I look thru my clothes. I can’t wear this..he was with me when I bought it. I can’t wear this, I wore it when we went to the mall last week. I can’t wear this..I wore it the first time we were together. Damn it. He is everywhere. And it’s my own fault.
I see his tie hanging from my closet door. I want him to take it, because I don’t want to see it every day. but I also want to keep it.
I hide it when he comes by, so that he will forget that he left it here.
Oh, there is one of his T-shirts. And the hoodie he let me wear when we got caught in the rain together. And the long sleeve shirt that he made me put on when we were at a late softball game and it got really cold. He even stopped playing so that he could run to the car to get it for me.
There are his socks that he left here..and the 3 pairs that he gave me…
I haven’t even worn them yet.
Shoes..well…this is going to be a problem. These he picked out. These he has the exact same pair. He has a pair of these too. These, he picked out. And those are the shoes that I wore when we…~blushing~ oh, nevermind.
Time for my perfume. He loves this scent. And I remember when I had this one on, and I made him smell me. And I wore this one when we went to that party..
There is the bear that I got the day that he told me he was going through some things.
All he is dressed in is a pair of boxer briefs and a bucket hat.
His name is “Sexy Man” Love!
Cute.
I decide to make myself a PB&J to go, and I smile. I make them for him all the time.
I always tell him that he is not allowed to watch while I do it. I make 'em with love.
And he knows they are the bomb!
I finally get out the door walk down the sidewalk, and try to remember how many times we have walked thru here. I hop into my car. Wow..if this car could talk. I will never forget the first time he was in my car. It was the first night we went out for a drink together.
I pop a CD in. No..I can’t listen to this one, he burned it for me. Not reggae~one of his favorites. And definitely not love songs. I turn on the A/C and laugh out loud. A few weeks ago, he said “Damn, Brenda..can you turn the air down..you could fly a kite in here..” and we laughed for 5 minutes behind that.
There are no memories of him that make me sad. Well, maybe one. Okay..maybe a few. But nothing like the ones that make me smile. And even though I smile, they hurt me.
They make me happy and sad at the same time. But I knnow, that as time goes by, the memories of him won't sting my heart as much as they do now. I know that I will forget how he smells, and forget the funny things he says, and I will make new memories of a different man standing in front of my sink shaving while I watch.
But right now, as much as I think I want to,
I can’t forget him..
and I don’t know if I even want to try.
