The past seems like a dream now. I know everyone says that, but it’s true. Before, my memories were so vivid that I could touch them. Now, everything seems out of focus and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get close enough. I can’t go back.
I try every night. I lie there and start from the beginning. Meeting you. Marrying you. I watch the brick fall away, hear the babble of the brook and the bending of the trees. I can see her approaching the alter. But I’m not her.
I can see her touching you. She’s scared, her lip quivers. You take her hand firmly. You look into her eyes and put her at ease.
I’m jealous, if I’m being honest. I know she’s me, but I really am jealous of her. She gets to touch you the way I can’t anymore. She has a future with you, the way I don’t anymore. I watch her getting to know you, exploring the world with you. Holding your hand, seeing your face in the morning. It’s like a film or something. Someone else’s memories.
When morning comes, I have more questions. Was that really us? Were we really that happy? Did we become two halves of a whole?
Because I can’t see it anymore. I can’t feel it. I haven’t felt anything in…centuries. Except this growing…displacement? I’m not sure if that’s the right word, but here in our business and our home, I feel false. Like this isn’t really my body. Like I stole someone else’s life and now I’m just wandering around doing nothing with it.
How did I get here? How did we, despite how we started, how we suffered, still manage to love each other so deeply, to trust each other completely, to build something so miraculous that noone else could rival us? And then, after all of that, how have we ended up here, now, arguing over a dinner invitation? It’s not right. It can’t be how our story ends. We should be somewhere else. We should be doing something else.
We should be together.