Day 7 lazy dinner and the final chapter

Hiya guys. Whoever's reading. Or maybe I'm just sending this to the abyss of unread Facebook updates and tweets. Anyways I was planning on making that amazing looking poisson meuniere (fish lightly fried in butter and drizzled with browned butter and lemon juice. I got lazy though, and the jar of port wine liver pate I had in the fridge was tempting me. So I sliced up the baguette I got yesterday, brushed it with olive oil, rosemary and basil, sprinkled with salt and pepper. Perfect for spreading with the pate and a white wine spritzer. Maybe tomorrow for the fish then.

Day 7: The last chapter of the relationship

14 years, you and me. We've been through the highest highs and lowest lows. Just a year ago we weathered my father's heart attack and your mother's kidney failure. Only 4 months ago we finally finished the mortgage payment on the house and took that Alaskan cruise we've been talking about since we first started dating. 

Next month makes 15 years together. 15 years my love. I still love you, you know. Not like I used to. Years ago seeing you made my stomach flutter. The smell of your after shave melted my legs. Even someone mentioning your name in passing made me smile.  I don't feel that way any more. 

We peck each other on the cheek instead of clinging together in kisses. We sleep next to each other instead of with each other. I cook dinner and you tell me about your work day. How Tina from accounting was chewed out my Marcia and you had to mediate the situation. Instead of flowers now you bring home a chicken or a Swifter refills. 

But I love you. I love you like I love my family. You are family. There's a comfort I associate with you, that same feeling of relief and warmth when you come home after a day. If I could equal it, I'd call you that favourite sweater I still have left from my college days. The graduate year printed on it was more than 10 years ago, and it no longer holds the same feeling of prestige wearing it, but it soothes me with its familiarity. The memories of being in it, swaggering down campus with friends in matching sweaters. That's what it's like now. 

I wish you felt the same.

I guess romance is still important to you. I know sex is important to you. I want to ask you to stay, I even know you will stay because that's the sort you are, but it's an empty relationship for both of us that way. 

The divorce papers are under this letter, along with the love journal I've been filling in for 12 years. Do you remember when I bought it? We were in Stratford, in the bookstore wasting time until my dental appointment. I bought the red and heart printed journal, filled with prompts of what our relationship is like. Things like 'What was going on in your head when you first saw me?'. I just finished. The last prompt was summarizing our relationship. I left that blank. I think this letter suffices. 

Good bye my friend. Your stuff is packed up. You were nice enough to leave me the house. You'll be taking that nice sports car you got at 30, midlife crisis I guess, eh? I teased you for it for weeks. I'll be hiding in the kitchen, taking solace in making that chicken dish you hate. 

I love you. And this is the story of us. 

- The Love Journal -