I miss you more than I loved you.
It occurred to me how fucked it is.
How true that one sentence is to me.
Like it’s ridiculous.
Obviously I loved my husband. Who grieves like this if they didn’t care?
I loved him.
But we, we weren’t perfect. No one is perfect. No relationship is perfect. Except for like the first, I don’t know, week maybe. Maybe. You know.
But looking back on it. I am so proud of the marriage that I did have because there was no jealously or doubt about if we loved each other. No checking his phone while he slept or wondering if he really was at softball with a few exceptions on my part.
I trusted him completely.
I didn’t realize I did until I started trying to talk to others again. Not just romantically but even friends. I don’t trust. If I do there is a limit to the amount of trust and it never comes close to how I felt towards him.
Our relationship was simple.
Everything was a first.
I miss my partner of firsts.
And the longing for that companion that I somehow felt entitled to far outweighs the appreciation I ever showed while he was alive.
It always fucks you.
There are so many things would have changed.
Yet still he loved me.
I feel like it’s weird to make a statement like that for someone who cannot express his own feelings but I know. I know that he loved me. His actions said it all even when I wasn’t around.
I feel unrelatable.
It’s hard to be alone.
It’s hard not to be alone.
I’ve become too self-sufficient.