Let yourself feel sadness
One day, almost unknowingly, you became a stranger. Our conversations gradually filled with an almost legal formality. Dialogue turned into sorting through the catalog of things we had accumulated. It hurt me much less to part with the car than with the space in your room. And unintentionally, the memories also began to drift apart. Which ones were yours, and which ones were mine. I decided to keep the saddest ones for myself, as a decalogue of things I never wanted to experience again. The children, the dog, the habits, they all survived the dispute, they endured the tremors.
And I find it terribly optimistic to call this a dispute. The truth is that we missed the conflict so much. One day, we simply decided to go separate ways, without much drama, without spewing bitterness from anger. I took my things, you took yours, we made a calendar, and pursued new directions. We also created the illusion of remaining friends, as close as we could be. I didn't know that utopias invariably collapse. And judging from a future time that has accumulated much dust, I have to admit that I miserably miss my friend. Before the bills, the taxes, and the alienation of all things material, my friend in empty rooms in a house that was filled only with us two, an improvised Christmas tree, cans in the pantry, corners where something of you still lives, something of me.
Paradoxically, time can either help heal or worsen everything you feel, as circumstances accumulate that either distance you or bring you closer to the abyss of thoughts that traverse your mind and soul. Memory becomes poisoned when promises you never thought would break are combined with the damn ego that betrays and tramples you. The reality is that tomorrow we'll have different names, different stories, different lives... the vicissitudes of our time will become unrecognizable characters in an eternal comedy that cyclically advances like the hands of a clock. Because in much less time than you can imagine, that mattress on which you started a home will smell like someone else, telling different stories.