Tag Archives: heartbreak

I miss

31 Aug

I miss Friday nights.
I miss Pizza Tuesdays.
I miss Saturday mornings in each other’s arms.
I miss drinking cocktails.
I miss falling asleep with our feet touching.
I miss spooning.
I miss his friends.
I miss his family.
I miss our walks in Victoria Park.
I miss Broadway Market for olives and sourdough.
I miss his smell.
I miss kissing.
I miss that damn tattoo.
I miss chicken on toast, with the good mayo.
I miss checking out street art.
I miss listening to him play the ukulele.
I miss playing on the kids’ obstacle course in the park.
I miss brushing our teeth together.
I miss laughing.
I miss my best friend.
I miss everything.


Just when you think it’s going to be OK

29 Aug

I felt good last night. I felt really hopeful about the future and excited to have 11 days off work. 

Now I feel empty.

And I also feel fat.

Why does everything smell of my ex?

24 Aug

It’s been three weeks since the pizza of doom. I’m kind of surprised that I’m still incapable of pulling myself together. This morning I woke up and decided it was time to put his stuff in a bin bag and get it out of sight. It’s no fun seeing his protein bars in the fridge, his jeans hanging in my wardrobe, his aftershave in my bathroom cabinet. I felt positive about this decision. I would get my flat hetoxed. I would put new sheets on my bed. I would deep clean. Everything would feel fresh. And fresh would feel better.

Very ambitious. Very naive. Wow. I had no idea it was going to hurt this much. As soon as I opened “his drawer” the tears started. Big, ugly, sobby tears. My neighbour must have heard me howling, I’m quite sure. At one point I thought I was going to vomit from crying so much. 

Anyway. I’ve packed everything away. My flat is so teensy, tiny that I can’t really get “the bag” out of sight. It’s blatantly going to sit in my bedroom like a giant, mean elephant in the room.

I decided to keep going and clean out my entire life so have been through my wardrobes and drawers sorting clothes into ‘keep’, ‘bin’, and ‘charity shop’. Here’s the weird thing: all my stuff smells of him. Even things that I’m sure I never wore when we were together. 

I love his smell. I always did. 

Why is my nose torturing me? Does stuff really smell of him or am I imagining it? Can he smell me at his house? And when the hell is this going to get easier?

The thing is, I guess I don’t want everything to feel fresh. Because fresh means he’s gone.