I sat by the lake again today, by myself. It felt like it was going to rain the whole time I was there, but it mysteriously did not. I even brought along my new Plath find, but I didn’t open it. It could’ve been worse; I almost brought some Virginia Woolf. Oh, why must I be so clichéd? At least I didn’t wander to the shore and start filling my pockets with rocks.

I just sat on my favourite waterside bench. It was quite melancholy. That bench, well, it was “our bench”. That would be mine and D’s bench. If you live in a suburb as boring as the one I live in, you’ll appreciate the effort to find interesting things to fill up one’s time. And if that fails, you sit on a bench. Hours and hours of summer nights sitting on that bench watching the sunset, my legs folded up over his lap, my head on his shoulder. How romantic. I miss the laziness, the comfort of those nights, when you can sit with another person feeling no pressure to keep the conversation going, just being able to sit and secretly smile in each others’ arms.

Today, sitting on the bench alone, I had one of my “wow, I’m single” epiphanies. It’s been almost a year and a half since we broke up, and most of the time I don’t really notice. I did at first; I missed his goodnight call every time I was about to fall into sleep, the guaranteed plans every Friday night, always having someone to kiss. But, I don’t feel single. Maybe it’s because he’s still in my life. D. is still the person I’m closest to and I like to share myself with him. Maybe I need to let go a bit more in order to get on with my life. I’d really like to have a new person to walk along the pier with me, sit on the bench, hold and kiss, without needing anything more on a warm August evening.

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