closure

i want to preserve this memory. my last memory. of huntman.

because even though it was the hardest and most excruciating thing i've ever done, it was one last hour of happiness together. i memorized the feel of his hands in mine and the flecks of gold in his eyes. i savored his strong arms around me and the security of home. i committed to memory his lips-- the dusting of freckles, the way they move as he spoke, and the rush i feel when they meet mine. his collarbone and fingers and whiskers. our matching orange shirts and the way my legs draped over his lap.

our playful banter and sporadic jokes made us laugh, as well as the old-time christmas music in a jack-in-the-box in pocatello, idaho.

the fighting and goodbye made us cry.

but we ended on good terms. and i see now, now i finally see, that we both tried. we both gave it our all. the timing was off. it's as simple as that. horrendously and tragically off. we hugged and kissed goodbye, and expressed how much we loved each other, and all that we had learned in these three and a half years. we said "take care" and i waved beside my car as he climbed into his truck.

and that was goodbye.

i do not want to speak ill of him. it is too easy to condescend to blame, to meanness. this is a lesson i have sorely learned. i will always love him and i do not want to desecrate our memories into ugly words. he is a part of me because of all i have learned from him, all we have shared. he taught me how to love. he taught me how to be loved. and while this is not the ideal ending we had hoped and planned for, we will both find our happily ever afters. down the road. with each other or with someone else entirely.

now comes the hard part. i have to pack him away into a box-- the reminders, his notes, our letters and pictures. closure. it's what we gave each other, as a last parting gift. now... now i have to remember to breathe and to move on with my life.