Spring Cleaning

I cleaned my apartment today—a task I hadn’t done in weeks. And as I sifted through piles of laundry and wiped the stains from the glass of my windows, I thought of you. From when? I’m not sure.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly two years since I saw your face, heard your voice, or felt the warmth and safety of your embrace. It’s even harder to believe that I thought I was in love with you. And as I shook out rugs and fluffed pillows, I imagined the life I once envisioned with you. Nestled somewhere in suburbia behind a white picket fence. Me, a teacher. And you, a uniformed man who fights for a country I’m sure I could learn to love for you. It is my home, after all. And you learned to love me, after all.

And as I wiped away the streaks that lay atop my reflection in the mirror, I wiped away this distant reality I concocted. From when? I’m not sure.

And as I settled into my freshly washed bedding, I settled into the reality I live in now. Raw, not a figment of an overactive and romantic imagination. You are gone. You cast me aside two years ago, and you have become nothing more than a ghost that haunts my past.