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    Art by Stella Cretek. When we met decades ago and my lips touched you, I knew we were a perfect match because you, slim and trim, gave me the confidence I needed. Yes, I was a mere 18, and though you’d been around for many years, I never noticed you. I felt chic […]

 

 
Art by Stella Cretek.

When we met decades ago and my lips touched you, I knew we were a perfect match because you, slim and trim, gave me the confidence I needed. Yes, I was a mere 18, and though you’d been around for many years, I never noticed you. I felt chic having you near. You answered when I called.

And so it began at various events, inside and outside. As I write, I’m feeling

a sense of loss, for yes dear, the taste of you lingers. Yesterday (it’s only been one day since you departed) I cleaned out your favorite ashtray, the glass one in turquoise that matches our furniture. Your little BIC, also in turquoise, is on a top shelf, out of sight.

There was something swell about having you around all these years…. There in the morning at dawn’s early light, and there at night. If I needed you in the middle of the night, you never failed me. And dearest, with a cup of coffee, you were matchless. Martinis were better too. Everything was better with you.

But darling, it’s time to move on, as the years with you have taken a toll,  for example, I seem to cough more these days, plus face it, your scent was never that wonderful. I take that back. It seemed wonderful to me, at least at first, in fact the smell of you reminded me of my father and his pack of Camels which he’d surely walk a mile for.

It’s said that addictions resemble love of the obsessive kind, and if that’s true, I was addicted to you. During the hours when you were away (never for long though), my nerves jangled like mad, my head began to itch and I crabbed at everyone. There were days and nights when I couldn’t wait to hold you, but dearest, did I ever hear you say, “I love you!” Not once. Never. My friends said you were the strong silent type. It’s true. I tried others, but always came back to you.

May I say that you definitely were a high maintenance item? Costly to say the least, and on more than one occasion, I felt positively burned by you, as if you’d taken advantage of needy me. Eventually, you came to rule my life. If ever there was a leech, it was you. I got nothing in return except a cough.

So okay, I’ve kicked you out, given you the heave-ho, doused your spark, etc. You’ll survive. Tomorrow starts day #2 of not having you here. It’s hell as bits and piece of you remain in our formerly shared space. A few hours ago, I dug through my trash in case you were there. Your essence lingers in my clothing and on my bedspread.

I don’t want you back, so forget about contacting me. Stay out of my face.

Love, 

J.M. 

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