Love Day Was Yesterday, Moron

Fiction

I often wonder: do those people who post online about their fantastic day, their wonderful partner, their sheer joy at being alive—do they read what others write? Or rather, perhaps, what others don’t write? Do they see the empty spaces? Or do they just check in to self-congratulate? To thank their partner publicly? To let the world know: I am in love! I am happy! Everything in my world is great!

What about all those people who don’t have anything to post? Are you just as happy for them? Do those happy lovers really care about anyone else, or are they so wrapped up in the warmth of their love, that they can’t see that others are freezing?

To be honest, it kind of sickens me—and that’s not just envy, either. Because I was once like them. I too once had a special someone, someone who completed me. Someone with whom I could tag myself, and describe in the comments section as “this one”. As in: “Looking forward to another great year with this one!” And everyone else could see just how happy we were.

And we really were. That’s the stinger. It wasn’t fake; it was fucking bliss. We were in our little bubble, and all that was outside, I didn’t give a shit about. Whether or not my ex was watching, or if my best friend’s dad was dying. Or even if someone else might just need to hear that I cared about them, too.

But, no. I couldn’t do that. Because I had him, and he was my world…

He was my world, and then he was gone.