I understand. I respect. No, it doesn't really bother me that you think of her. I think I am more jealous than anything that you have all these pleasant things to remember from your first. While I look back on mine and shake my head. My friends and family, when they look back, shake their heads and
shrug.
It happens, they say, patting me on the back in a
consolation.
You see, that is what happens when you don't trust yourself to make decisions, when you go around like a census taker collecting everyone else's opinion on your dilemma. And of course, the people you ask can't tell you what they really think, if they really love you: they'll force themselves to let you make the decision on your own. They weren't with me in the living room when I broke up with him. They certainly didn't help me lug all my belongings out of the apartment and set up camp on the floor of a girl I had just met who had been banging my now ex-roommate. In that week of deliberation, watching him chug wine out of a coffee mug and slowly lose his mind in his indecisiveness, I was all alone. And I know I made the right choice.
Even now, though, you do not know this. You have better reasons for fond memories that ache in your chest than I do. Maybe this will help you understand why, as much as I look back in time, I do not look back fondly.