distance helps me only so much

It's been something like a year since I saw her or heard from her. We fought so long my voice was hoarse, until she finally stormed out with a bag full of my things. And I've been good. I haven't sent a single letter or email or text. I only tried calling once.

In many ways I still think she was the worst thing that ever happened to me. It wasn't just the fighting. I can deal with the fighting. It was everything else. The way she'd drag out conversations, talking about nothing at all, talking about herself--anything but what I wanted to. At the best of times she was self-absorbed, just giving me enough affection and that indifferent sort of caring that kept me happy and drove me mad. It felt like there was a distance there but that we could have closed it. There was just never time.

It wasn't always like that. We started out passionately. At first she really, truly cared. And so did I, I guess. Of course, by the end it was either fighting or backhanded insults. She lived to make me miserable then, and I did my best to make her as miserable as I could. It was passion of a different kind, I guess.

It got to the point that just thinking about her made me angry. It still does. She said some things I could never forget, and it kills me every time that someone I loved could ever do something like that to me.

I still remember what she was wearing when she left. She probably doesn't. But it's what she was wearing when I first met her, and it's the little things like that that stick with you.

I miss her so much.