blank

Some people remember things in a blur. Others report a slow-mo feeling, like the movie of their life had been fiddeled with. Me? I don't remember anything past announcing to my family that it was officially off. My brain shut down in defense of the emotionall ammo being shot at it the moment I heard myself say "Because he's changed his mind." I must have gone to my room and sat on the green air bed. But I don't remember that. I might have cried-- I probably cried-- I just can't remember. In fact, all I can remember are little snippets; a short trailer of that part of my life is all I can seem to assemble. I count it as a blessing, I really do. I also find it odd.

I remember hiding the ring in my Bolivia bag, underneath a pile of other wedding things. I was going to make him ask for it back, but I couldn't make myself look at it any longer. It was a painfully beautiful symbol of his love and devotion... the things that made it special now made it acidic, painful to even think about. That symbol was a sham, and I was in too much denial to face it.

I don't remember that next week. I remember returning tule. I remember sitting on the couch, eating chocolate favors and watching Lost. I remember Disneyland. Other than that: nada.

I remember the first time Mom cried about it. It wasn't until Grandma Geneva commented on how sad it was. That's when she finally felt it. Hearing her tell me this was a shot to my heart: now this was hurting those closest to me. But I don't remember much else.

Grandma Carlee said she was sorry and that she would call all the family on her side. I thanked her, numbness in my voice. I remember the false optimism I would speak about, giving everyone around me relief from my situation. Everyone except me.

I remember the first time I could look at a boy in that not so subtle way and not feel ashamed. I remember looking at him and really seeing someone that could make me happy, at least for the time being.

I remember the next time I loved someone. It was fast, short, and intense... much like me. But I loved him.

I remember the first time I heard a man tell me he loved me and truly mean it after that day. I remember how it felt to know that not only did he love to talk to me, but he also loved to look at me, to hold me. That was the first time I'd ever experienced that. I remember thanking him later for that.

I remember the day I talked to him and didn't feel anger or remorse. I asked about his life and how he was without ulterior motives or ideas. I wasn't reminded of those old times. This was definitely a new time. I was a new me.

I am a new me.

I've met parts of the real me, the parts that I know for sure that are true. And guess what: I like her. I like her a lot.

Someday, a man will love her more than she can imagine. I can't wait until that happens. When I can no longer remember what it felt like to be sitting here right now.

But for now... I don't need those memories. Today is sufficient for me.