August 7th, 1989

August 7th, 1989
At home

I wonder if being in the same place where you spent time (years) with the person you loved, makes it harder (and longer) to get over that person. Feels like everywhere I turn right now holds memories of Ben, back when we were happy. I’m trying to stay strong and move forward but it’s not easy.

Like today, for example, I went to the city centre to buy new jeans and I popped in to see Susan at work. As usual, we had a lovely chat but Ben’s name was on the tip of my tongue the entire time. Right before I left I asked Susan if she’d heard from her son.
“Not for a while, love,” she said, with a pensive look on her face.
“Well, if and when you talk to him, tell him I’m asking for him,” I said, trying my best to ignore the lump forming in my throat.

On my way to the car park, I passed some of the restaurants Ben and I frequented and I stopped outside our old pizza place. I imagined how we might have looked together, back then, to others. What I think anyone would have witnessed were two young people very much in love. Two young people with a great future and a life filled with love and happiness.

That thought alone brought the tears on and I couldn’t get to my car fast enough. Fortunately I had my sunglasses to hide my eyes but at that point I didn’t care if anyone saw me crying.

I sat in my car sobbing for a very long time. Of course I eventually drove home and when I came into the house, mum was on the phone. When she saw me, she covered the mouthpiece and pointed to the phone.
“It’s Jon,” she mouthed.
Typically, I’d take the phone from mum, put on my happy face and chat but today I didn’t have the energy for any of it.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” I said, heading for the stairs.

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