So, there was this girl. Yeah, I know, there's always a girl. But if there's no girl, there's probably no story and it's best to get the obvious facts out of the way quickly.

I met this girl at the end of September on a pub crawl my friends talked me into. Being somewhat unimpressed with the idea of a pub crawl on a busted up bus starting at a strip joint, I decided to try to salvage my evening, and struck up a conversation. We connected in as much time as it took to introduce ourselves. It seemed we shared a few interests, we made similar jokes, we poked fun at the strippers and the patrons of the establishment. I was smitten. Before long it seemed we'd both forgotten about our other friends and we spent the entire night glued to each other. Naturally we traded numbers at the end of the night and soon after started dating.

Things moved quickly. Within a couple weeks we were sleeping at each other's houses, partying and talking about how great it was to finally meet another person like ourselves. I was exhilarated. I'd never met somebody who was so willing to take me at face value. I didn't need to play games or try to be somebody else. She made me feel... confident.

As we walked home after a movie in early December, she told me she needed to talk with me about her feelings, out of the blue. She told me she'd felt like she was always somebody's girlfriend, and never just herself. She explained she's had some troubles in her life, and all she wants to do is party and have fun right now, and in light of that, she couldn't be my girlfriend. Not exclusively. She said she wasn't able to tell me that I was the only one she was going to date. I told her I couldn't accept that. She looked down at the ground.

"I'm sorry, then."

"Me too." I replied, knowing that what she meant was "goodbye".

And just like that, it was over. It took five minutes for all the confidence I'd built up to break apart. My head felt like it was on fire. I remember punching the glass out of a bus shelter. I went home, took two shots of Jack Daniel's and told myself it wasn't really a big deal. I did the tough guy thing we're all supposed to do, I said "fuck her" and pretended it was okay and that I didn't, and indeed, couldn't feel pain.

But it wasn't okay, nor was it painless.

It became an all-consuming, rampaging beast in my head after the night it happened. For thirty days I was angry, depressed, lonely, confused ... And longing, always longing for the feeling she gave me.

Then, one night not too long ago, I had a dream. I was face to face with her again in my dream, and I finally said to her everything I've meant to say. I'm angry with you, I'm confused, I can't forgive you.

I miss you. God, I miss you.

My dream responded by telling me she'd return to me, I was important, that she was sorry for everything I'd been feeling. But my dreams always tell me what I want to hear. I knew she wouldn’t be back.

So I woke with her scent in my nose, the faintest taste of her lips on mine, her face burned into the back of my eyes. Another day where I kicked myself for falling too hard, wanting it too badly, and being unable to just let it go.

I sat up in my bed, just staring at my sheets. Something had to give. I couldn't always feel this way or I'd wind up being one of those bitter old men nobody wants to talk to in the bar. I surveyed my bedroom and was then suddenly compelled to start cleaning. So I started cleaning everything. I pulled every book off of my shelves. I moved every piece of furniture. I emptied every drawer. And I was overcome by how one person in two short months had invaded my life entirely.

A piece of paper with her phone number. An open condom wrapper, thrown into a drawer in the heat of the moment. A strand of her hair. The ticket stub from the last movie we saw together. My train ticket from the ride home after she told me goodbye.

I stared at these things, feeling all my anger, sadness and desire flooding back. I wanted the pieces to magically add up to her entirety and have her here again. But I know it won't and can't happen. So I gathered them in my hand, all these little pieces of her, and I balled them up and threw them away.

And in that moment I felt no great release, no triumph, not even loss.

I felt a sigh, a gentle breeze pushing me to take the steps away from her.

It felt, for the first time, like letting go.