Sadly, still not mine. Enjoy.
One Year
It's been a year since I left. Exactly one year. The earth has made a complete rotation around the sun. One year. Three hundred sixty-five days. Eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. Thirty-one million five hundred thirty-six thousand seconds.
It seems like a long enough amount of time. I shouldn't still be thinking about her. About her smile. About her laugh. About the way she looks wearing my shirt and nothing else.
It's been a year. Twelve months. Four seasons. Another calendar retired. Another Christmas missed.
It should be enough time. It was only a job. She was only an asset. After a year, it should be a distant memory. Practically forgotten. She shouldn't occupy my thoughts whenever my mind is free to wander. She shouldn't be a recurring character in my dreams. My heart shouldn't skip a beat when I see a woman who walks like her. Hear a voice that talks like hers. Catch sight of hair the exact same shade as hers. Meet someone whose eyes glint like hers.
One year. Three jobs. Five countries. Sixteen crappy hotel rooms.
It's been one year. Exactly one year ago today, I left. I walked out of her life forever. Disappeared in the middle of the night without a goodbye, prepared to move on. She was only a person. I was trained to never get involved. Never get attached. But it's been a year, and I'm still thinking about her. Picturing the way she looks stealing spoonfuls of my yogurt. Wishing I was still waking up next to her.
I thought leaving her was going to be the hardest thing I ever did. I was wrong. Forgetting her is going to be the hardest thing I'll ever do. If I manage to do it at all. One year. Five years. Ten years. It doesn't matter. Decades could pass, and she'd still occupy my thoughts from time to time. I doubt I'll ever really forget her.
One year. Three hundred sixty-five days. Three hundred sixty-five opportunities to forget. To erase her from my mind. One year, and every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Three hundred sixty-five days, and all I can think about is her.
One year, and I remember her like she's still here.