Hey Monkey,

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.  I thought I was getting to a place where I didn’t miss you as much, or where the pain was easier to stomach, but the last two days have kind of felt like a return of the realization of how much I miss having you in my life.

Yesterday, I was cleaning out my room and I found a card from you that said “I love spending time with you again. I’ve missed you so much. All the things I like to do are so much better spent with you. I know this is a strange time for us, but please try to trust my love for you. I want to be with you. I love you, Monkey.” I don’t remember exactly when you gave that card to me, but the soonest it could have been was when you got back from Wisconsin during the summer.  How did things get so bad between us so quickly between July and December?  In less than six months you went from telling me to trust that you want to be with me to never wanting to see me again.  I still can’t really wrap my mind around that.  It’s very hard not to feel like I’m completely at fault in making you want to leave, but I don’t know exactly why you do.  It’s very hard not to think about that every single day.

This morning I was at Wholefoods getting coffee, and I counted three or four redheads in line. I miss playing the redhead game with you, and lately I’ve found myself noticing every single redheaded woman around me. It makes me miss you that much more, and every single one of them reminds me of you.  It makes it really hard to move on.

On top of all of this, twenty or thirty minutes ago a co-worker was talking about a survivor claim that she had to take from a guy who didn’t have a social security number, and who was a Zumba instructor.  I know that you have worked with that guy’s kids, and that you know who he is, and it was such a weird coincidence that I wanted to call you and tell you about it immediately.  Only I couldn’t, and I won’t ever be able to do that.  It’s weird not being able to share things like that with you anymore.  It makes me really sad knowing that you don’t want to ever have that friendship and love with me ever again. 

I wonder if you miss any of those things, or anything else. I wonder if you ever see or hear things that remind you of me, and if you do, if those memories make you sad, or if they make you glad.  I hope that at least some of them are bittersweet for you, because then it will mean that you do still love me like I still love you.

Always yours,


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