If I could, I’d take my diary entry today and make all the past tense verbs present.
There would be no “was,”
“were,” or “went.”
There would be no, “loved.”
There would just be “is.”
I’d write about your Cheerios addiction and our daily trip to Fred Meyer’s.
I’d write about the door you have to double-check is locked and your beard that always scratches me.
I’d write about the popcorn I’m eating with you, the chocolate chip cookies in the oven, and your hand holding mine as we watch another episode of “CSI.”
I’d write about the way you sing old country in your truck, Betsy, and about my favorite spot on your cheek where I like to rest mine.
If I could, I’d write about this all in the present.
I can’t, though.
It remains in the past as a chapter in my life that is likely to remain closed.
So I’ll write it in the past tonight and savor what once was.
You spun me around like Cinderella.
You put my clothes in a drawer in your dresser.
You shared your toast.
Held onto me tightly.
Made sure I was always taken care of.
You kissed my forehead each morning at 5 a.m.
Checked in during lunch.
And flew across the country to watch me walk.
You were the only person to ever catch my heart romantically.
And you may be the only one who ever does.
I wish I could write about us in the present tense, but what’s gone is gone, and the -ed remains on the verbs we once shared.
Thank you for having loved me. May you find someone to love again one day.