Losing an Old Love

It's hard to say goodbye to an old love. Especially when it's the kind of love that's spelled with a capital "L". An old Love.

I said farewell to an old Love yesterday. It nearly broke my heart to do so. So many hours were spent in her company; many times she was the only thing that stood between dark and bitter moodiness, and being able to take a deep breath, exhale, and begin to find pleasure in life once more.

I've said goodbye to her three times this week, preparing myself in steps to accept this loss. I've talked about her incessantly, remembering the good times for the most part, occasionally speaking of times that weren't so pleasant.

I said my private, words said aloud goodbye to her while sitting quietly in a parking lot. I admitted to her that she'd been one of the few who'd made me happy in the last few years, and that I really hated to see her go, but I knew there was little time left. I took some time to look at her carefully one last time, savoring her scent, looking at the imperfections that only added to her character. I rubbed my hands over her, here and there, grasping some places, delicately touching others, memorizing what each part touched felt like.

Our final goodbye was last night. It was about an hour from sunset and once again I found myself in a public place, unable to dare to let tears well up in my eyes, lest anyone see and suspect the great Love I felt. And the loss in these final minutes sucked into me so hard I almost felt numb with the sadness of it all. But I couldn't let it show.

When the time came to part, there was nothing left but to take one last hard look, my eyes hard and steely with the determination not to weep. I closed my eyes for just a moment, feeling the tears lurking in spite of my resolve.

And I turned and walked away. I didn't look back.