He left.
/
Today is July 14th. The fourteenth. A number in each month that has always acted as marker for us, for me and John and our start. The day we began was April 14th, 2015. That was not the first day we met, but that was the day me and he became we.
He left yesterday. Took his packed up boxes, wheeled them load by load on a dolly with my assistance, packed them in his work van like he was mastering a Tetris game, sliding this one over, lifting this one up, adjusting, fixing, spatially owning the shit out of his truck...
Then I had to go to work, and he had to...go...and we parted at the tree in the courtyard. I got in my car and drove out of the complex, passing him in his van, waving to each other sadly but meaningfully, and he mouthed I love you and gave me that same 'good guy' side-smile he has countless times before.
...and last night I came home from my dinner shift to the cats and silence. ...to his things gone, and his voice gone, and the keys to my apartment laid out on the dining table next to each other, one by one, lined up neatly, 'cause that IS how he would return them.
I woke up this morning to him gone, too. Because he left. Because we both decided he should leave, even though we both didn't want him to go. (That is a very real and frightening thing.) I changed my calendar clipboard to the 14th and realized that we began exactly 3 years and 3 months ago, and here we are - today - ended.
I think.
I don't know for sure. Do people that separate - but still love each other - ever know for sure? I think that's what the separation is intended to both clarify and prove in the pudding of actually happening. But I can't be certain...
What I am certain about is how I haven't felt IN my body since he left. I feel like I'm floating somewhere over it, like I can't connect with my surroundings, or hear music, or feel physical sensations like my legs propelling myself to walk forward through space, like I'm lost somewhere in between, completely disassociated with any semblance of hope. My energy is not one with my body.
It's sadness, I suppose. It's expected, I also suppose. ...but I really don't know how to DO this.
I'll leave this post at that because I'm going to go into more detail about what I mean at a later date, in an upcoming post. For now, I'm existing in a space that I never saw coming at the start, that I don't fully understand and therefore don't know how to process and deal with, yet here we are. Such is life. More to come.
