181. Letting ache be what it is
We're over now. It's not even a question of "what if" anymore; it's just what is. There's something oddly intimate about smell - the way it lingers, clinging on to fabric and memory. I was folding my laundry and repacking again, and picked up a pair of tights that I forgot to wash. His scent was still there and it hit me so suddenly and so sharply that I had to sit down. For a moment, it was almost comforting, but then the ache set in.
I reached for the cards he'd written me. I've read it about five times now. His handwriting is so distinct, slightly uneven, but full of intention. His message to me was so cute. He showed me his old draft. He said he rewritten it a couple times, but the original one was pretty "full-on and cheesy" and didn't want to expose himself like this. He didn't want to show it to me because we were in the midst of our break-up and he thought it would make me cry. It didn't make me cry, the draft made me smile, actually. What made me cry is this whole ordeal. For the last couple of days we were together, I tried to make it pleasant and have the in-person moments feel really nice before we leave each other...
So, with the double-whammy of last week's clothing and the two little cards, I cried, of course. Not the neat kind of crying in films, but the messy, full-body kind. I miss him. I miss the way he made me laugh. I miss the quiet moments and knowing looks. I miss the late night chats and the endless lists of activities and future plans. I was really good and didn't cry for the last couple of days. I have to really remember: grief comes in waves.
There really isn't a resolution to this kind of missing. It's not something to fix or undo, it's just there. Sometimes it's faint because I'm too busy and preoccupying my mind and body. Sometimes, it's like today, where I had to sit down because it was overwhelming. All because of some smelly tights and some ink on a page.
I'm learning though, just to let myself feel it. To let the missing be what it is without trying to push it down. That's the part of healing - no pretending it doesn't hurt but letting the hurt exist because I know it doesn't last forever. The smell will fade, the cards will stay tucked away, and the ache won't feel super heavy anymore.
I'll just sit with it though, let the memories wash over me. I'm not weak, I just cared deeply and that's something I never want to keep down or regret.
~ smelly,
<3 K