Reliving Past Lives
Avoiding remnants of our relationship while passing through the JetBlue terminal at SFO
In 2009, I was in love for the first time and we were physically separated for a week or so. I wrote him a love letter every day and at the risk of being too needy, only sent a handful postmarked San Francisco. I also wrote to my best friend, complaining that we were always supposed to grow up, be single and living in San Francisco together. Spoiler alert: it still hasn’t happened.
In 2010, I took him to my favorite city. It was his first time. I wanted to explore my favorite spots with him from Sausalito to Crissy Field to that shitty North Beach restaurant that my brother always took me to. I imagined us living our lives in the city with our rescue dogs. It never happened.
Post-wedding in 2011, we took a roadtrip up to the bay with the dogs. They adored Crissy Field and it felt like this was it. I envision a parallel universe where we did end up in a 1-bedroom in Cole Valley. Our dog would’ve gotten all the sunshine and grass rolling she needed to beat cancer. We’d still be non-monogamous but better at it because we’d be in SF. That would have never happened.
The next few trips I took alone. I did not feel the same about being away from him. I looked forward to getting away and dreaded returning home. I imagined a different life, one where I was single, living in the city with my best friend. I met a married man through a “dead bedroom” subreddit and we connected over the obvious. I adored him and imagined another life where I was his kept woman. It was the first time I connected my desires for 24/7 submission to an actual person. I chased that feeling for the next 3 years and even devised a plan to just leave and move to San Francisco. It never happened.
I just got back from an SF trip where I saw the lifecycle of our relationship play out. There were traces of us everywhere and I drowned it out by seeking out others. Naturally, I reconnected with the same married man I was so ready to give up my life for, only to get my heart stomped on. He held my face in his hands and I begged him to love me. He refused and left me at a bar in tears. It was never going to happen.
The extra sting came when my almost ex-husband confirmed that he was going to move to the bay area in a few weeks. This was the life we were supposed to have and he was going to live it without me. We coordinate logistics and I warn him that I’ll be cleaning out the office soon. It’s been 7 months. I don’t need the space nor do I think of using the space. I just need to purge it of his belongings. When I stumble upon my love letters to him, sitting in a filing cabinet with our marriage certificate, I marvel at how ambitious those papers are. Somehow professing my love for him on paper would make it true and a legal document would make it last. It just didn’t happen.
