I always thought I had a good memory for details. I will never admit it out loud, but I can remember that she was wearing a yellow dress and nonchalantly looking at the menu when she accidentally-on-purpose let slip had met someone new, and I can remember that he was in a suit, standing in his living room and taking my business card at the exact moment that he told me I was pretty. For some strange reason, it’s the little details like that that keep significant memories alive for me.
But today I realized that I can barely remember what my life was like prior to the last three months. What was I doing all those nights when I wasn’t staying up on WhatsApp? How was I able to fall asleep as early as midnight back then, when these days my body doesn’t know it’s tired until it’s practically 4am? Who else besides my girlfriends did I make room for in my life when it wasn’t taken up by someone thousands of miles away?
I don’t remember. Whether it’s because of my sleep deprivation, or because I was in some form of autopilot mode that made me tune out everything in my life, but I really don’t remember. And when I try to remember, it almost feels like an out-of-body experience. It’s as if I’d been in suspended animation all that time — unable to move forward but unwilling to go back — and was woken up by one person — the only person — who knew how.
Or maybe there was just nothing to remember.
Three months. Three months — 13 weeks — it has been. Sometimes it feels like three hours, and other times it feels like three… well, forever. If someone had told me three months ago that I would land myself in a relationship under these bizarre circumstances, I would have scoffed and discounted the possibility entirely. And now here I am, with my principles, my whole belief system, shaken to the core, with absolutely no idea as to what the future holds, but just forced to ride the waves because there is no other option. And the most unforgiving part is that I would be willing to do it over and over again, because of how happy he makes me.
Someone told me years ago that some relationships are self-made, while others are made by God. I don’t know that I ever designed a relationship like this, but I truly thought that God would sit this one out, purely because of the obstacles surrounding it. I suppose He thought it was finally time to put everything I am, and everything I have, to the test — because, you know, it appears I just haven’t been fucking tested enough.