51 Weeks since Kia Died

I’m trying to remember what I did last year.

I have a habit of thinking about what I was doing last week, or last month or last year.  I do it on the train in to work, or while I’m sitting around being bored at the job or at home, or whenever.

I find it helps me see things in a larger frame.  It allows me to gain a clearer vision of my past and present.  And that allows me an opportunity to make fewer of the same mistakes, and make new mistakes instead.

A year ago today, I don’t really recall what I was doing specifically.

I have old chats from Kia and I, gmail conveniently saved them for me.

I don’t really want to read them, I feel bad enough as it is.

I would imagine that we were at work, she had a class that was Thursday evenings I believe, her script writing class.  The students would all write a script a week, as if they were working on an actual tv show.  Each week they’d take turns being the head producer (show runner) and go through the scripts that the others wrote and make notes.

But that was Thursday.  Wednesday, we did not do much.  Nothing that I can recall anyway.

That bothers me a lot, more than I can explain.

I love every second of my 7 months with her, she knew it, I told her.  I knew it, she told me.

I’m glad that worked, but now it makes the time without her worse.

It’s like having a high point in your life, knowing at the time it is a high point, expecting it to last for a while, and then it suddenly ends, for no real reason.

It’s not something I had experienced before.  I have never really been that happy before.  I thought I had been happy, I really did, but the time with her was always on a different level.  It was so easy, all the time.  Effortless.

Completely effortless.

It was as if we both knew what to do, or what to say or what the other was thinking of.

There was never any mistaken words, or misunderstanding that arose because of something I said.  She knew when I was teasing her, and could give it back, she knew when I was serious and would respond in kind.  She had her own stories and loved to tell them.  She listened to mine.  She could take criticism and could give me some.

And even on the few occasions when things were tense or one of us caused the other to be upset, we just talked it out.

It was so easy, it really was like dating myself.

I miss that everyday, I miss the constant high, the feeling of finding something that I was not looking for, the feeling that my life was headed toward a common goal, that was unsaid but well defined and understood by us both somehow.

Now I just wake up, go to work, come home, go out, eat, sleep, whatever.

I would like to feel that way again.