As I was clearing up my room on Saturday I found the bound notebook Chris had given me. I took it and held it, flicking through and just admiring the beauty of the pages. It was Hobbit themed and so made out like a Middle Earth journal. I imagined him picking it out for me because he’d seen me admiring it on our Covent Garden date.
It made me so sad, to think of all the things I wanted for us but which will now never be.
I can’t believe it just ended in such a cowardly way. I wish it could have ended with tears and screaming, that could have raged out against him, instead of silently wishing into the night for something horrible to happen to him.
On the other hand, as I flick through the notebook, my mind moves forward.
Where would our next date have been?
How long would it have lasted?
Would we have made it 6 months?
Would we have made it a year?
Would he have ever loved me?
It’s ridiculous, stupid and sad. But I can’t help but think of him. I had a huge urge to rip the book to shreds and send it to him. I wanted somehow to hurt him, to make him regret what he did.
To make him feel something.
But what haunts me is all the things I wanted for us. Things that will never be. All the memories that I wanted to create for us.
Memories that never were.