And I mean everything. I can’t look at anything the same now that I’ve lost you. Everything that we had together, I see everywhere. Everything with you that used to bring me joy and happiness, now brings pain and longing.
I can’t listen to Kanye anymore. When I do, I am reminded of you playing his new album all Valentine’s day as we drove across the state. Twice. I’m reminded of how angry and upset I was, and how hard you tried to lighten the mood. When I listen to Kanye, I remember the fight that immerged that night and how that was the night I truly began to lose you forever. I can’t listen to Kanye anymore.
I can’t fold anything anymore. As stupid as it sounds, you were the only person to ever notice that OCD trait of mine. No one had ever cared enough to notice that much detail about me. And now I can’t fold another gum wrapper or Chipotle bag without thinking about how you used to love me. I can’t fold anything anymore.
I can’t see my room the same anymore. I always left before you did, and you used to make my bed before you left every day. I would come home to a perfectly made bed, with Pooh Bear placed with love in all different ways. Now I come home to the mess I made and no one to clean it, no one to care for me. And I can’t see my room the same anymore.
I can’t watch SNL anymore. I used to watch it all the time before you. I used to love everything about it. Then you started showing it on my TV and commenting on the old Jeopardy sketches. And we started spending our nights laughing over the stupid comedy. And we would stay up watching sketch after sketch, fighting sleep and falling into each other’s arms. And now you’re gone, and I can’t watch SNL anymore.
I can’t make pasta anymore. When I do, I think about the time I tried to be cute and make dinner for you. The time I tried to pour out the extra water and ended up dumping three quarters of the pasta down the drain. The time I got so upset about ruining dinner that I was brought to tears, and the time you laughed and held me and loved me more for making the dinner so memorable for you. You have no idea how memorable that dinner was for me, because I can’t make pasta anymore.
I can’t go to get ice cream anymore. Because when I do, I think about how I introduced you to Jeni’s. And I think about how cute and excited you got over it, how much we used to go. I think about all the flavors we used to try and how much we used to goof around while in there. I think about how many times you went while I was home on winter break. I think about all the milkshakes you used to make me, yet refused to give me the recipe. I think about how you always got the waffle flake for me, even though you (apparently) didn’t care for it. And now I can’t go get ice cream anymore.
I can’t sleep anymore. Because I used to sleep with you. Because you used to hold me tight, and smell my hair, and gently kiss my forehead. Because you used to turn with your back to me and snuggle up against me until I agreed to be the big spoon. Because we used to go to bed fighting and wake up in each other’s arms, loving each other so much that we couldn’t even speak. Because I used to wake you up before I left every day, and you would kiss me a million times, ask to make me lunch, and tell me you loved me all while still being half asleep. Because the sight of you with Pooh Bear and Monty would send so much love through my body it hurt. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because I can’t turn off the memories. Because I can’t stop the pain. I can’t sleep anymore.
You ruined everything.