You Can Move

But it takes a while to really move on.

You’re not there anymore. The city we lived in together for the better part of six years, is no longer yours. I checked in on your Facebook, as I do from time to time, and saw that you moved to Cleveland. It makes sense, you were a nursing student and you just graduated. There are good clinics up there.

“I never thought this day would end, I never thought tonight could ever be this close to me.”

That was the quote from a Brand New song you sent to me at three in the morning on the first night we met in 2007. I remember driving home after kissing you in your friend’s drive way in Ohio, looking back at your car turning right where I turned left. It was my last night before I went to college, it was the first time I felt love for you.

We were together for almost three years. I would drive home every other weekend and we would make love in my parents’ house. We’d talk daily on the phone about the bullshit you put up with in high school and my day to day at art school. You moved to Columbus as soon as you could. Our fights increased as our appetites for new things started rearing their heads.

It wasn’t the way I wanted it to end, there were moments of terror as the relationship fell apart. You got scared, I got drunk. It wasn't what love was supposed to be. I think honestly the third summer we were together was when it started towards the crash that we found ourselves in by January. Broken glass, me turning 21, you learning about the party scene in Columbus. We were at a cross in our road, you took it right, I took it left. We never talked again.

I started the end of my school and met the new you. A tall, skinny brunette that tamed a bit of my heart. The new you lived a block away from my apartment and attempted a brief stint at CCAD with me. The new you moved a mile away from downtown to Grandview during my last year of school and I would come over to that small studio apartment and we would have sex all weekend. We would walk to the parks and get too drunk on shitty vodka and pbr. We broke up, and got back together a few times. I was marathoning through my last year of school and you were trying to find something that didn’t make you sick to your stomach. You were kind, and gentle, and I was rough and angry then.

I graduated school and got a job in Grandview, I was living in a gentrifying area east of downtown and you told me we should just move in together.

We did and another ending started to begin. The new job took my time up, and introduced me to bar life. The people who worked at the studio would go out several times a week and I would join. I fell in love with whiskey and grew more discontented with our situation.

Fights, but never fists. We would bicker over nothing. You lost weight, I packed in pizza and pbr; my stomach grew. The descent to madness between us started when we bought a car and dropped yours off at your parents in the middle of the night. A few more apartment moves, a few more breaks between us, and we found ourselves in a Clintonville apartment staring at the ceiling at 6am as you told me you didn’t think you could do this anymore. I was still drunk and didn’t care. That was it.

I moved into a basement, I spent many nights alone. I moved a few more times and to my own detriment I found my home at the bar. I grew ill with life and lacked any growth for a very great while. You met a few new men and we didn’t talk. Like the first you, we still never talk.

Eventually, I learned to be alone. I forgot what a woman felt like for a while, and it was okay. I got drunk for months, for no reason. After almost a year, I met new girls, had new lovers, and short stints with other women. I still thought about both of you too much in the city we all shared for almost 6 years. Years spent together but no words after a final point.

It was probably my fault, honestly. It’s hard to be friends with someone when you’ve seen every part of them, for years on end. The break and span between us is a canyon now. You both moved from Columbus the same month that I did. You both went right, and I went left. I moved east to New York, you found a home in Seattle. It seemed right for you, the artist.

I still look at your blog, and Facebook. I want to see you with someone that will love you. I want to see you do great work. I want to see you pregnant, I want to see smiling babies. I want to see you smiling, I want to see you happy.

Most of all, I just want to talk to you, both of you, one more time. Even if it’s just to say I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever get that chance, but if I do, I think I know what I would say.

“You can move, but it takes a while to really move on.”

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