Immunity Challenge #2 for SurvivorBLOG 3


The Beatles were wrong when they sang:

... and in the end
the love you take
is equal to the love
you make...

I think that we're born with a finite amount of love and once we've used it, once it's gone, it's gone forever and nothing is ever going to bring it back - not hope, not prayer, and not even somebody else's love.

She has been out of my life for nine years now, but I still wake up every morning expecting to see her face on the pillow next to me and I still feel a little ache inside when I don't see it.

This ache isn't exactly pain, but the memory of pain. You've, no doubt, read that people who've lost limbs will sometimes still feel "phantom pain." It's that kind of ache - a memory of something of great beauty that is gone forever.

Every now and then I experience flashbacks of our life together. Giving our cats a bath. Taking her to New England to meet my parents and watching her see snow for the first time. How much she loved to eat crab. Making love during a thunderstorm so she wouldn't be frightened. Sometimes, I'll smell her perfume on another woman and feel that same dull ache.

Two years ago, and two relationships later for her, she got married. She showed me photos of herself and her new husband. Nice guy. I like him. Really. As I looked at the photos, it hit me that her life had moved forward since she left me, but that my life




I can't shake her.

I can go for weeks without thinking about her once and then discover a shirt she gave me in my closet, or maybe eat at a restaurant and have a waited ask me where she is.

I live in the same apartment, and though I've changed nearly everything about it since she left, I can't get her out of the shape of the cinder blocks or the cracks on the ceiling.

I have all the same friends, and they tell me things, "I like this new girl... but not as much as Susan." Behind my back they say, "he just hasn't been the same since Susan left him."

My only hope is to leave this town. Leave my friends, change jobs, eat different foods, use a different toothpaste, adopt a different way of walking, shave my head, change my face, and learn a new language.

Even if I do all that, how can I ever replace this missing part of my soul?

For the rest of my life, this ghost of a love long dead is in me.

It is in me.

It is in me.
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