It’s Happening

It’s been 54 days.
And I can feel it happening.

It’s in the small things.
Like the pint of key lime gelato I randomly bought for you.
Because it’s your favorite.
Because our late night routine often included eating gelato and bitching about work.

Well, I guess I would bitch. You would just hold me and laugh with me and tell me it’s not a big deal and that I’m the best little waitress ever. And then I’d bitch about how I wish we still worked together because we worked brilliantly together and having you there made everything better. It meant I got guaranteed time with you where we were working towards a common goal. Even if that goal was just turning the tables. We were never more in-sync than we were during a busy service and we made an awesome team.

So I have this pint of gelato still in my freezer.
Key lime isn’t my favorite.
But I can’t bring myself to throw away perfectly good gelato.
There’s obviously more to it than my fear of wasting gelato.
Whatever it is,
It’s starting to creep out.
Because every time I have opened the freezer for the past 54 days,
You’re there.
You’re in my freezer.

I’ve been so good.
I’ve been pushing forward.
Now I look around and start seeing you in places I forgot.
It’s happening.

We never made a huge deal out of Christmas. I remember the night we celebrated our first Christmas. December 18, 2015. I only know the date because I took a picture of you. It was the first picture I’d ever taken of you even though we’d been dating for a few months and it was always my favorite. I sent it to my parents and made it your contact photo. If you ever call me, this is the picture that will pop up on my screen because I haven’t gotten around to deleting your contact yet. And while my gift was purely practical, I remember your gift was much more sentimental. It was a West Elm piggy bank. At work, everyone called me a truffle pig because I sold white truffles on the reg. I thought it was the most perfect thing and when I read the card that came with it I cried. I hadn’t cried opening a gift since I got an iPod when I was nine.

So the piggy bank is sitting on my desk next to my bed.
I keep it there because I still use it.
Because I can’t bring myself to throw away a perfectly good piggy bank.
There’s obviously more to it than the issue of relocating all my loose change.
Whatever it is,
It’s trying to break out of me.
Because today, after 54 days, I look at that stupid piggy bank
And I see you.
You’re there.

I’ve been thinking about you.
I miss you.
Is that ok.
I just miss you.
But I think it’s happening.

Healing.

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