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 told. I silently took a deep breath, tried to detach myself in order to hear what was being said. Your best friend Bev, was telling me the story. Why was she even telling me this story? I smiled, smirked, raised an eyebrow 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 it. 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.