It was brief.
It was brief and it was explosive and it left just as quickly and as randomly as it came.
And I loved it. I loved every moment I spent with you.
Its briefness is not something I need to defend. Its briefness does not need any justification when I describe the love which I experienced.
We haven't spoken for months and any French I hear makes my stomach ache and I am so nervous to return to what we once called ours.
After days and nights, I'm starting to realize it isn't so much you that I miss. I miss what I thought you were. I miss what I thought we had.
So in a surreal, sobering way, I will soon return to what was once ours and I will reclaim it as my own. And perhaps share it with someone new.
However brief, our time was our time, in a city that, at that time, was our city.
F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote:“There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice.”
I love that.
I'm moving back, I'm moving on, with or without you. And though I will never forget what we had, I'm ready to remake this city.
Turn this heartbreak into joy.