I couldn’t listen to someone else’s story about the time you once loved. How you flew to Denmark for a domain name, well for a girl you had liked on some trip somewhere, and she owned the website that you needed. I knew the website. You owned it now. I reviewed it, gave you notes and product feedback. It was a good site, damn good name. I never knew there was a girl though. I didn’t know the full story, and I couldn’t listen to it once it was being retold. I silently took a deep breath, tried to detach myself in order to hear this conversation that I was suddenly part of. Your best friend Bev, was telling me the story. Why was she even telling me this story? I smiled, smirked, raised an eyebrow, all at the right moments. Laughed because we all knew how outrageous you are sometimes.
It was a strangely tough experience. I was with him, but stories like this, and friends like her, made me feel like he was not with me. I couldn’t bear to imagine living in a world where I reminisced about him, without him. Where people would tell me things about him, and I had to just, hear them. Where he would live and I would live, but separate and apart and not together. That made me hold on tighter, rightly or wrongly. I remember that night, how insecure I felt, I went back and clung to you in bed.