The last time I spoke to ZH, I was congratulating him through gritted teeth about his upcoming wedding. I knew that I didn’t want to be getting married, but I knew that I didn’t want him to be either. My body was tense, my voice was shaking and I told myself that I was allowed one tear. When that one tear came and went and was followed by a long stream of additional ones, I knew it would have to be the last time I cried over something that I, myself, had done to him. I would finish this one good cry and I wouldn’t look back. So as I said my goodbyes to the one who got away and let the last tear slide down my cheek, I wiped my face, stood up from the downtown bench and walked back to my friends. There it was. The end.
I knew that I had to show no mercy. I knew I had to walk away with my chin held high and remember that I was the one who ended it. I was at fault. And any pain I felt now, I caused all by myself. I couldn’t hate ZH for finding what he had thought he had found in me. I couldn’t spite him for going after what he wanted. And if I was going to be mad, I would have to be mad at me.
So, last night, as I slipped his sweatpants on, I thought of how beautiful he had said I looked in them and then I thought about how much I had hurt him. Tears came again and I warned myself about being weak. But, for once, I let all of that stubbornness go and I cried for a lost love. Because, whether or not I did the right thing, he is gone. And I am sorry.
Today, I bought new sweatpants.