Once upon a time, I was in a long distance relationship.

Oklahoma to Australia type long distance, not exactly a wise choice on my part.

But we were uniquely compatible, the chemistry was -potent-.

Or so I thought.

The fragments of that breakup are scattered across my profiles on these here internets, buried in blog posts and journal entries and facebook statuses. It wouldn't be inaccurate to call it one of the defining moments of my life up to this point, but all of that has been said.

This was, after all, ten years ago as of this April.

We had some brief contact since then...enough to watch her move halfway across the world, and wind up in another serious relationship. I believe she married the guy? Who knows.

Some time ago, I made the choice to bury whatever was left of it. Five years ago? Six? I don't remember anymore. The one caveat I let myself keep was this: if she ever came back, I would let her.

Weird, right? Short sighted? Pointless? Pathetic?

Don't worry, I thought all of that too. I am a lot of things, but easy on myself isn't one.

Fast forward to several days ago, when I'm cleaning out my closet. I get to the box that holds all of the stuff she sent back to me - a dreamcatcher I made for her birthday, few of my old shirts, several letters, some photographs...memories, in short. I knew it would hurt to open it, but I'm a glutton for emotional punishment.

It's all safely stored away in a plastic tote, now. Safer that way. I toyed with the idea of setting it all on fire, some years ago. Couldn't bring myself to do it. Weakness, I thought.

I've been dealing with the requisite mental fallout since then.

For perspective, I used to hold the belief that it would kill me stone dead.

If I'm being totally honest, I think part of me was disappointed when it didn't.

But here I sit, so we're past all that. Now it's just a lot of morose recollection of the happy times and the not-so-happy times, reflections on my mistakes.

I've come to the conclusion that my self-assessment was wrong. That is, my little caveat isn't pathetic, or weak, or hopeless.

I am patient, and I am forgiving, and those are strengths even if they hurt me sometimes.

It's not as if I'm not a different person, now, or as if she isn't a different person. "Coming back" would entail starting a relationship from scratch, learning each other all over again. It's immeasurably unlikely to ever happen, but letting myself remain vulnerable to the possibility isn't the pitiful little shard of hope I used to believe it was: it's kindness, to myself and to her.

For some reason, that makes me feel a little better, for once, about all of it.

-C

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