Two Mugs

Dear [     ],

I came back to my apartment this afternoon to find two mugs sitting on my kitchen island - one red, one white and, beside them, a ripped package of ‘Cup of Calm’ tea. My island stools are still rearranged the way you placed them so we could sit and ‘talk about us’. The way you placed them so you could lean in and kiss me when you saw the tears start to pool in my eyes. The endorphin high from my morning workout quickly dissipated as I replayed it all in my head. I leave the mugs there for now because they are the last sign of you left in this space.

I have been repairing the damage he did for three years. I suspect you have some damage of your own you might still be trying to repair. I thought I could help you. I thought you were going to help me. I thought I was moving forward because, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to play in the shallow end. So I took a deep breath and I made my way to the place where my feet can’t touch the bottom.

It wasn’t easy but it wasn’t exactly hard either because I thought you were coming with me. But, when I turned around you weren’t there and suddenly I wasn’t swimming anymore, I was drowning. Waves of you and him and every other man who chose to stay on the shore.

I couldn't keep my head above water.  

 And that’s how we found ourselves huddled over two mugs – one red, one white and, beside them, a ripped package of ‘Cup of Calm’ tea.

Thank you for kissing my forehead.

Thank you for lying with me while I cried.

Thank you for explaining what you could.

I think we would have made each other better.

I think we would have been happy.

I think that scared you.

I wish you had been brave enough to try.

I wish you hadn’t pushed me away.

I wish we could have swam together …

… in the deep end.