Dig if you will the picture
Of you and I engaged in a kiss
The sweat of your body covers me
Can you my darling?
Can you picture this?
I started the process of scrubbing out all of our pictures from our life from all platforms. Seven years of history being deleted.
She deleted all of them January 1, 2018.
Since the beginning, I’ve tried not to make any more irrecoverable or forced errors. I haven’t always done it perfectly, but I’ve suited up and showed up. I’ve tried to not run from my pain and grieving.
I’ve never blamed her for my behaviors.
However, I saw clearly recently, as she scooted past me into the arms of another Hero, protecting the past from C’s wrath isn’t my responsibility either. It isn’t meaningful enough to her to dig into what is true and what is false what I do doesn’t matter anyway.
If I’m not responsible for her healing or well-being, I’m also not responsible for her impulsiveness or how she chooses to move forward. If our life together holds no meaning for her, that is her story. It meant everything to me. Everthing.
Saving the images was one more time I tried to carry the emotional burden while she had the luxury of simply disappearing, folding into the mythology of pop psychology, armchair psychology, and hiding behind Heros de jour.
It’s taken me a little longer but they need to go. I’ve given myself permission to save seven: one from each year.
This sucks. My heart shatters with the ending of every image…I certainly loved this woman and our life together.
That is all.