When the Hole in Your Favorite Jeans Disappear Because You Threw Them Away

Dear You,

Purchased a new used vehicle. A Dodge Caliber. Blue, slick little fucker with a luggage rack and the seats that fold down for storage and late night banging on road trips. Now, all I need is someone to bang. But I will miss my Pontiac Vibe. Sure it had a lot of miles and the tires sucked, but we’ve been across the country together. Went through Canada to Maine. Took her down to Florida last winter and Cape Canaveral a three years ago. She’s treated me well. I didn’t mind that the body had a few dings, the semi-circle crack in the windshield, or the cigarette burn in the backseat upholstery because one of my friends failed to flick theirs out the window. It added character. Most of all,  I will miss the extra compartments. Especially the one I used for on-the-road trash: receipts, Five Hour Energies, banana peel in case I needed to throw one on the highway to cause a Mario Kart pile-up. But that’s how life goes. We get rid of the old for the new, and not always with open arms. We will miss the best parts of the old while adapting to the new.

It has been over a week since I have communicated with my ex. It was definitely like getting over cigarettes. That urge erupting out of nowhere, like you’re hungry, but you just fucking ate, so what’s going on?  Every day got a bit easier, thinking about her less. Issues arise when I want to send her a photo of something cool (e.g. A store at Great Lakes Crossing that is full of board games. Our favorite was Bananagrams). Or if I hear a dumb joke like “Why don’t Teddy bears order dessert? Because they are always stuffed!” I can’t share a laugh. Somehow the world is blander. Those connections are lost. Broken synapses. Like people you were around every day in high school, but you can no longer remember their name. And it makes me wonder how long it will take for me to forget her completely. So they say about language: if you don’t use it you lose it. If I am able to not think about her at all for years—let’s say 50—then will I forget? I am thirty-one and still remember when a girl in first grade touched my hand. So, no. I do not believe I can ever forget.

We can’t always get back what we lost. And accepting that can be the loneliest feeling. We will lose compartments. Places where we stored some of most important items of our lives. Even if it seemed like trash. Cleaning out the Vibe, I threw away a book of Mad Libs we took on our trip to Maine. Now, there is only one item that holds any connection. And I don’t know if I can part with it.


Criteria of Future Mate #3

She must know what it is like to drive on the highway after a fresh snow and run out of washer fluid. The salt does not spread on clear.


Note: This blog is intended for a mature audience. Any child viewing this blog will receive herpes on their thirty-seventh birthday. 


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