Since April of 2019 when I first had an affair, I have been with many partners. Not all partners were in depth experiences, but I will not judge the quantity in the least. This means that there are a good number of people that are wandering around out in the world that I might indeed run across in life.
What about that man whose kids are also in some of the same activities with mine but a few suburbs to the West? Will I see him the next time students suit up for a tourney?
What about the man who lives less than a mile from me? Will I see him at the gas station or out on a walk in the neighborhood?
What about the man with whom I planned to write this blog? We travel in similar circles and thus chose to limit to friendship, but I have seen him around.
What about the man who does contract work? Every time my work puts out a request for bids, I wonder if he will show up on my list.
What about the man I know works for a company near my home? Will I run into him when I am out for lunch in the area?
I was in a park when I thought I saw you, Kintsugi. I remember your every detail, and yet I am uncertain if it was really you to be honest. Seeing you out of context was jarring. I might have expected to see you out by that lake as I know water is your thing. I might have expected to see you when I I frequent favorite places in your neighborhood. I might have expected to see you at the breakfast joint where I first met you, despite you saying you hadn’t been there in forever and almost never go there anymore as you feel out of place. I didn’t expect to see you at a park across the center that divides my twin cities. This is my half of the world, not yours. And yet, I saw you.
I have some very conflicting feelings. I am glad you are alive and apparently well, and I simultaneously want to make you hurt terribly. What the actual fuck is that about? I haven’t heard from you in just shy of a year. Has it really been that long since you disappeared threatening suicide? I knew you made it through the day you dumped on me, but I had very little confidence you made it through the days, weeks, and months following.
Maybe I am mad because while I didn’t expect to hear from you when you were in your darkest times, I did think when perspective returned you would say that you were okay. I did think that we would be friends even still. I did think I mattered to you.
Maybe I did.
I don’t give a fuck if I run into a whole host of people in the grocery store or at a local event. I could even pretend easily that we didn’t recognize one another. They didn’t matter to me like you did. I am so very angry, and I realize that I would still forgive you everything and be your friend. I would still sit out at that lake and have a beer and laugh at your dry, dark, and sharp humor. I would go for a walk and talk about history and the banality of repeating the same mistakes from the past. I would still learn your stories, and I would still remind you what a fantastic story teller you are.
I wouldn’t kiss you in the parking lot or let you grab my ass as we climb the base of the bridge area near Hiawatha Falls. I wouldn’t fuck you. I likely wouldn’t let you pull my hair, but honestly, maybe I would…just the hair though.
Instead we were startled and we kind of waved, and I question whether or not I really saw you. You know where I work. You know my phone number. You could find me easily if you wanted. I wish you would…at minimum so I could look you in the eye and see that you are really okay.
I would have liked to stop, greet you properly, say “hi” and “how are you” and “we really should catch up when there is time” and let you know that you mattered and you still matter. I would write run on sentences just to irritate you.
The last time I saw you…I wasn’t prepared for it to be the last time. Seeing you in the park…I wasn’t prepared to ask the question repeating, “Did I really see you?”