I haven’t been in many relationships, in fact you could count them one hand, but I have been in love and I know what it feels like to have a person that you love with a big chunk of your heart disappear from your life in the blink of an eye or like a wave, slowly and inevitably.
I think it tears a little bit of your heart away when it happens. And when something, anything, reminds you of that person again, after the immediate surge of memory, comes a pain almost as bad as that first tear.
For me it is often the first bars of a song. Music transports me completely to a past memory or time and I can daydream about different scenarios and how they would play out if only I could go back in time. All the while being stroked by that song, those notes.
Regret fills every one of my pores and my eyes fill up when I remember the gloriously sunny times I spent with that person and all of the time since then that I haven’t spent with them. What could I, what should I, have done differently? Was it me? What did I do? What should I have done? In reality it probably wasn't just down to me and our distance probably wasn't a direct result of something I did, alone. But reality is hard to locate when you are overcome by memory.
The hardest moment is when a memory comes to you and you have that need to share it with them and you realise you can’t. It takes a split second to realise this and, even though it is an obvious conclusion, it’s a shock. I have to restrain myself from contacting them, from running, screaming into their lives shouting about that time with the song and the place and the thing. I have to restrain myself because after the 1000th time of doing it, it would become a little too much.
In the words of Patrick Marber, ‘Time: tricky little fucker’; music, very tricky little fucker; love, even trickier I would say.
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