Write Now.

Charles Bukowski said it best: “A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.”

I am recovering the best I can. I have good days and emotional days. Eventually, I'll look back and feel lucky to have had such a beautiful thing. It's not that we had a spectacular, perfect relationship. It was  the moments in between, the silence before a word,  the contentment in simply sitting next to each other.

I am not looking at this with rose colored glasses as some may think. I understand that perhaps, it was not a shared view. It would be easier to believe that he didn't love me, but I can't, at least not more than a day. His actions always spoke louder than his words.

The love just wasn't and isn't enough. The idea still catches me by surprise. Our love was one that came with sacrifice and time spent. It had just taken root and was beginning to bloom as our connection deepened.

I have lost my best friend. We did not start off as friends and perhaps we will never be friends, but the connection will be there.

So, with all of this said and done, I am recovering the best I can.
I have good days and emotional days,
but not bad days.