Paging Debbie Downer.. Pity Party Room 1 please

It's been 3 years and 9 months.  You know how the magazines and self-help crap all say that it takes half the amount of time you were in the relationship to get over the relationship??  Well, I'm here to tell them that it's not true.  It's been 3 years and 9 months since he moved out.  And I'm still not over him.  We were together 2 1/2 years.  Simple math tells you that I'm way above average, I guess.  HA.   Sometimes I think I'm fine.  I've dated other men - had semi-long term relationships with a couple.  And then something happens that makes it seem like yesterday when he sat down next to me on the couch and said "Are we really happy?". 

I remember that day in October 2004 so clearly.  But somehow the majority of the time we talked during the breakup is a blur.  I remember crying, getting mad, freaking out, kissing him, and then I remember him walking out the door.  I remember calling my best friend and I couldn't breathe.  All I could squeak out was "He broke up with me".  She stayed with me that night.  I think she was afraid for me.  I remember laughing one minute and crying the next.  I remember not eating for a week.  I wish my mind would block out the moment I came home two days later and all of his stuff was gone.  I thought I would die right there and then.  I cried so hard I couldn't breathe.  I panicked.  How would I live without him?  I threw things.  I collapsed on the floor - soaked in mascara-stained tears.  I was angry.  I was sad.  I was lost.  I was numb.

I still remember the day I met her.  I saw them through a window.  He gave her a kiss and held her hand.  He looked at her the same way he looked at me once.  I smiled, shook her hand, offered her a drink.  I was strong.  I was cool.  When they walked out the door I cried.  I couldn't be strong anymore.  Because I knew. 

It's been two years since that day.  He still gives her that look.  I still cry when they leave the room.  I still can't admit to myself he's not coming back.  I am completely scared for the day I get the news that he's marrying her.  He was supposed to marry me.  That was our dream.  To build the house on the land that he bought and built a house on that they now live in. 

Maybe it'd be easier if I couldn't remember May 2002.  Our first date - we sat out in his truck for hours talking.  He kissed me like no one has ever kissed me.  I wish I could forget August 2002.  The weekend when we went to that B&B and committed ourselves to each other.  "I love you" was so easy to say.  Or March 2003 when we got the keys to our apartment.  Or the holidays we spent with family.  Or the things we got in the mail from friends that joked "Mr & Mrs".  Or the mundane nights when we'd talk about nothing in particular over brushing our teeth and setting our alarm clocks.  Or the Friday nights we'd cuddle on the couch watching TV and saying nothing at all.  I just want to forget.  And yet I want to remember it all.

I still wonder if he ever thinks about me.  Sometimes I think maybe he'll ride up in his Ford truck and sweep me off my feet.  He'll tell me that he can't live one more day without me.  And we'll live happily ever after.

I wonder sometimes if there really is happily ever after.