Who would’ve thought that you would have to eventually come back to reality after your midlife crisis?
I wish that you found happiness in Palo Alto, but I don’t think you did.
I drove past the wine bar you used to go to, I drove past the Thai restaurant we went to a few times. I remembered that time at Tamarind where I ordered a ginger beer before dinner and it was from Australia. It came in a cool little gold bottle with a kangaroo on it. I remember that the waiter seemed rude and I cried. I was so overwhelmed. You said something to me that hurt so badly; I cried in the middle of the restaurant.
I drove past the tea shop where we used to get milk teas, that used to be the loving hut. I drove past the jewelry store where you brought me because you needed to get your necklace fixed?
It’s hard to go to places where I have so many memories of you.
It’s hard to mourn your loss when you’re still alive.
I remember your apartment there. Where I lived after graduation. Watching Mad Men and eating all the food in your house. Before I left to go to that program. I stayed there when S was sleeping upstairs. I was there when he was carrying a cardboard box full of computer stuff down the stairs and he called me a cunt. Not sure what I did that time to deserve that, I’m sure he could remind me if I asked. I remember your chocolate covered almonds that you would “hide” in your bedside drawer and that new longer, pristinely white couch that was so modern. I liked your apartment. I guess you were there a while. But I wish you were happy there.
I thought of you tonight as I drove back up to the city. Where you’re living and I’m living, and S is living. But it just felt sad this time. Sad because of the memories we shared and how my life crosses those old paths every once in a while.
I wish that you were happy now. I wish those memories in Palo Alto made me feel good; like we shared good times together and maybe a few of them are nice. But, tonight you kind of feel like a ghost that I can’t get away from. Your painfully depressed self makes me ache with sorrow because I just wish, more than anything, that you were someone I could call and talk to about these memories.