Tag Archives: springtime

March

31 Mar

Springwell 2013 029

When I spoke to my ex on the phone, five weeks after the pizza of doom, I cried a lot. I tried to express to him how unbearable the pain was. How deep the shame, the disappointment, the loss.

He kept telling me I would be OK. Condescending asshole.

And when he did, I cried even more and said, “I know I’ll be OK, I just wish I could wake up in March.”

This was back in September. After the break up at the start of August.

It never crossed my frazzled little mind that by March I would still be crying every day. That things would lift, but still feel ohsolow. That I would still think about him all the time.

No, I figured by March I would be fine.

It’s the last day of March. I don’t feel fine.

But tomorrow is April.

April is my month. April is springtime. April is lighter evenings and sunnier mornings and smells of grass that’s freshly cut. April is the run up to May. And in May I go on holiday. April is my birthday. April is Easter and visiting friends in Edinburgh.

And when my ex wakes up in the month of April, I know he’ll have to think about me – seeing as it’s my name and all.

I hope it hurts.

Springtime

18 Mar

Unknown-2

There’s something wonderful about springtime. I’m a springtime baby, so maybe when the end of March rolls around and we are very nearly in my very own month I just feel more special. But the brightness in the mornings. The lightness in the air. And the evenings that start to stretch and make room for so much more possibility than heading straight home to put on pyjamas and watch MTV. It all puts me in a good mood.

It also makes me ponder how very different springtime is this year from how I imagined it.

You see, my ex and I had a grand plan. We were going to take a month off work between March and April, and travel around Japan. I am desperate to go to Japan, but never wanted to go alone. So, we decided to take this extended break and follow the cherry blossoms as they bloomed. My birthday would be while we were there. And I think we both had the same thing in mind. It starts with a “diamond” and ends with a “ring”.

Instead, I’m working like a mad woman. I’ve just ended things with a red-haired Irish man. I’m going on a date on Saturday. I’m going to Paris for work, shortly followed by New York. And on my birthday I’m having a night of drinks and ping pong with all my favourite cats.

Not what I planned. Not what I imagined. But not a bad way to spend the springtime either.

And maybe this is a sign that the gaping, painful void he left behind is closing. It will leave scars. Scars that hurt to talk about. Scars that are visible to others through my behaviour at times. But I can just about get my head above the darkness and say, “F*** you for what you did to me. F*** you for not appreciating me. I’ll find someone worth going to Japan with.”

He’s ruined enough already. I’ve been planning my dream trip to Japan for years.

It would have sucked to have him in all the photos.