i asked jeremy if he will think of me as the one who got away. i asked while softly stroking the flat spot on cleo’s head - the one between her ears- she stirs a little but her eyes stay closed. he looked at me - i couldn’t read his expression, it was one of amusement, annoyance and sadness- and shook his head.
that’s a little manipulative, i’m not going to answer that.
i wasn’t trying to be manipulative. if anything, i was shameless in asking for reassurance because the truth is: i am selfishly scared of being forgotten by him. or rather - more specifically - i am scared of being easy to forget. i am scared of being someone easy to move on from because that seems almost more devastating than us no longer being together. how long will i continue be in your thoughts? when you think of me, will you think of me with a hundred ‘what-ifs’? will you think of me softly years from now?
will you search for the parts of me you loved in others?
tasks i’ve done in the past week that have made me very aware of what it means to be starting over:
setting up my internet service. the technician that came to set up my internet was a very kind and soft spoken man. i was running late and as i rushed to meet him with my hair dripping from the shower, he told me to not worry. he put up his hands like two stop signs and gently told me: it’s okay. i thought about that as we walked up the landing to my unit. there was something about him saying ‘it’s okay’ that made me feel comforted - i suddenly felt less anxious, self-conscious about my wet hair and the stained sweat pants i threw on to meet him in a panic. he wore a tattered baseball hat and his eyes looked tired yet gentle. he looked around my small apartment and he offered me a warm smile like he knew this was a place i was moving into because of a bigger story and cheerfully said, ‘it’s so bright’. he told me about his son who is in the sixth grade and how his son and his ‘posse’ (i smile at his use of the word ‘posse’) love to get manicures and pedicures - he laughs lovingly about this and tells me how he thinks it’s funny and so different than when he was a kid. he fills the silence of my empty apartment with stories of his rescue dog named zeus, of his son, of his childhood in greece. i am appreciative of the conversation as i sit on the cold wooden floor next to him. he asks me to choose my wifi name and i sit there for a moment before settling on: persephone. he looks at it and his voice smiles:
persephone. this is a greek name! a greek goddess.
goddess of spring. queen of the underworld.