Tomorrow exactly marks two years from the day I was told I'd no longer be in the relationship I expected not to end. It's remarkable to see how what has changed and what hasn't in such a vast amount of time. Namely, everything else has changed and I don't think I have.
You see, I found out that there's a new boy buying this woman of my two-years-ago affections flowers and suddenly, I wasn't now. I was then again. Someone else made her happy and for a relatively large fraction of my life, that was my business and suddenly I was losing her all over again.
Let me be clear. I lost her two years ago. Again, almost to the day. I know that. I can reason through that. I have a calendar on my desk that hasn't been changed from January 23 because, as then me would have said, time just stopped.
Now would disagree, but it still feels wrong to change it. She bought it for me.
Two years later, it's not the relationship I still hold on to. I know that's over. Happy endings of that caliber are for Meg Ryan films and that last moment of the last season of Friends. I don't expect any of that.
But she was my friend's friend until she was my friend. And my friend until she was my girlfriend. And my girlfriend until she was my friend again.
I hate to think of that path sloping any further into the first direction.
I tried to talk to her about it, but all I could be in that conversation was an ex-boyfriend. No one else expressed anything but overwhelming excitement for her except for her ex-boyfriend.
I know how that reads.
But that's not what this is. The sadness is not from losing her two years ago. It's from losing her all over again in whole new ways.
It's funny. I looked at the calendar on my desk for the first time in a while. And this calendar, the one that hasn't had its date changed in two years, has a message on the bottom.
Happiness is a new day.