Actually, I know I will miss it

I am laying on a bare mattress that rests in the middle of the floor in an empty room. It is my last night in North Bay - ever, or at least for the foreseeable future.
I’ve thought very little about my actual departure from this city. It has been a date marked on my calendar for months now surrounded by exclamation points and stars, but, other than considering the kinds of supplies I’d require to pack up the house, I’d never really given much thought to the other implications the date held. I am leaving this city essentially the same way I entered it: without any real attachments to its inhabitants and less than thrilled about my living arrangements once I settle into my new life.
Despite making many friends, I knew that each goodbye I made was permanent – unless, of course, it was the other party who made the effort to keep in touch. In truth, I dodged goodbyes wherever possible and implemented a strict “no hugging” rule for the ones I found myself unintentionally caught in. This statement sounds slightly depressing, but I never expected to make lasting relationships in this city and found relief in the fact that it seems I haven't.

But other than that, I have a sparkling personality and a winning smile

Did you know that I am an asshole? It's true, I am. A giant one.
It is a realization that has been slowly dawning on me over the past decade or so.
I was once told, in so many words, that recognizing your own flaws is meaningless if you are unwilling to do anything to change them. I recognize that I can be judgmental, introverted, and suffer from a bit of a superiority complex. I hold on to anger for ridiculously long periods of time, and I frequently consider myself morally superior to those around me when, in truth, I am really no more moral than anybody else. And let's not forget the fact that I am incredibly flaky and have severe commitment issues.
Recognizing your own flaws does not somehow negate the negative impact that they have on both yourself and those around you, but I'd like to think that it is a step in the right direction.

July 11th

The circus is in town this weekend. They have set their tent up right down the street from our house. I remember you in your silly hat, with a smile plastered on your face, as you handed me a mound of cotton candy and told me that you had made special arrangements for me to ride the elephant. What I did not realize until years later is that anyone can make special arrangements to ride the elephants, assuming they are willing to part with ten dollars.
Each year I think that the fact that you are gone will not matter any more today than it did yesterday. This year I find myself surprised to realize that it does.
Those first few days I thought, "Yesterday this time my world was intact."
I continued to count time in relation to when you had exited my life for that entire first year.
I don't remember when I last visited your grave. I can't decide whether this fact would upset you, or if you would simply be pleased that I think of you at all.

Jesus was a sailor

I do not remember my first kiss.
I realized this as I sat in the car next to my friend Nina and listened to her talk about the loss of innocence that comes with aging. "Remember when it wasn't about sex? When there was no pressure? Everything was so much more exciting then. Everything was so much more intense,” she said.
Of course, she was right. Nina is always right.
I tried to remember a time when things were that innocent, and, while I can come up with a few instances now, at the time I could not think of one.
Is it wrong to want to return to that time? Just the idea of holding hands was enough to make your heart pound inside of your chest and threaten to explode. I cannot seem to remember a kiss that was not laced with an ulterior motive. A way to get from point A to point B.
Cosmo told me that if you do not sleep with a guy by the third date he will start to lose interest. While I have never considered Cosmo to be the authority on anything, it terrifies me that this could be true.

To whom it may concern,

I don't miss you more today than I do any other day. If there is any difference it is only because I know I am supposed to be more aware of you absence from my life on this day. Sometimes I forget that you are gone. I go to say something about you, and then realize my mistake.
There were times when I used to sob quietly in my bed at night, muffling the sound of my anguish so that no one would hear my pain. I don't cry for you anymore, but that doesn't mean I miss you any less. I never realized how much of a role you played in my life until you weren't there to play it anymore. There are so many things I wish you could be around to witness. I wanted you to see the person I was becoming. I wanted you to be proud of the person I was becoming. I wanted you to lecture the first boy I brought home, when I decided I finally liked one enough to bring home. I wanted to roll my eyes as you gave him the third degree, and disclosed information about me that caused me to turn red with embarrassment.
I worry that I'll forget the sound of your voice, or the way you smelled. That I won't always be able to close my eyes and see your faces smiling back at me. I think back to all the times I saw your name on the display as the phone rang and decided just to let the machine get it so that I didn't have to deal with any inane conversation. "If I'd only known," I think "I would have answered. I would have answered every question you posed and I would have done it gladly." There are so many "if only"s now when it comes to you. If only I'd know that I would never get the chance to see your faces again. If only I'd known that I'd never hear you say my name another time. If only I'd known that it was the last time I'd be able to wrap my arms around you. I would have memorized the details of your faces. I would have listened just a little bit better. I would have held on just a little bit longer. I would have held you just a little bit tighter. I would have told you so many things that I never got to tell you, that I thought I had more time to tell you.
I'm a hypocrite, you know. I've judged other people for their grief, and yet I am still not finished dealing with mine. I have come to learn that loss is loss, no matter what you lose. Grief is grief, no matter what you're grieving for. And pain is pain, no matter where it hurts. You can't say that someone else's pain is better or worse than your own. It's different. It's all different, and it cannot be so easily classified as to label it better or worse.
I lied when I said I don't cry for you anymore. In unguarded moments, my tears catch me by surprise. Three years feels like forever and yet like no time at all. I don't miss you more today than I do any other day, but I find my eyes red and puffy all the same.