Six days. It had been six days since he had seen her. He couldn't forget her parting words, her face, her expression as she left, even as he now took comfort and distractions in his closest friends. Everyday he sifted through the shoebox he kept, full of all the photos he had of her. Over and over in his head, he replayed their last conversation and all the things he should have said to make her stay. To make her see why she couldn't leave. Leave, while he stayed behind.
When she left, he couldn't believe it. With her gone, he didn't know what to do, where he was, or even who he was. She had been such a part of him. We're too young for this, she had said. Too young to play house and act this way. Why couldn't he see that? He had demanded that she stay, but she had only smiled that sad smile of her and shook her head. They, no she, needed the time apart to sort out their futures. She needed to find herself alone before she found herself with anyone. It had been both their faults, she had reasoned, but he knew that it was mostly him. He knew.
Six weeks. It had been six weeks since their final talk. He couldn't help but pretend he was fine now, even as he broke down every night when he sat alone with the shoebox. In his mind he replayed the events that had happened since she had left. He had held back his thoughts from his friends, never telling them what he was really feeling. What he felt as he sifted through the sealed letters he kept from sending to her, even if he didn't know where she was right now. Where she was, and he wasn't.
When she left, he couldn't believe it. Even now, some part of him refused to accept her absence. She would come back. Walk through his doors one day and beg him to forgive her for ever leaving. It was all my fault, she would say. He had been right, and how she couldn't see that, she didn't know. How could he be so stupid? He closed the shoebox and smiled self-depreciatingly with a shake of his head. They really had needed to be apart, and he was only prolonging his pain. It was harsh as he watched the box and everything in it burn to ash before him, but he knew it had to be done. He knew.
Six months. It had been six months since she had left him. He couldn't recall the exact details anymore, and even her face now seemed blurry in his mind. He wouldn't have thought of her, even, but for the song that had played on the radio as he drove to work that morning. He recalled that they used to hate it fiercely, but he turned it up anyway as the warm spring air blew through his long hair. Hair he had grown to separate himself physically from the past. A past, he no longer cared about.
When she left, he couldn't believe it. But now, he didn't think he could being himself to even wonder where she was. She had all but been erased from his life and now he didn't think he could find a place for her even if she chose to return. How could he have been so blind? She had been in his way, he admitted softly to himself even as he shook his head. That was harsh and he wasn't bitter about it. He had never believed it at the time, and even now shook the thought quickly from his head, but he knew it was how she had felt about it all. He knew.