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This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

breathe me

It's 5:20 in the morning. I'm supposed to be waking up at 6 to get ready for my London trip, packing what I didn't pack last night, and whatever else I didn't last night, which is pretty much everything (camera, clothes, etc).

At 3, I decided I wasn't going to get any sleep and so I got up and puttered around the house. Then I got the weird idea of calling the only man who ever really broke my heart. Chris. I know. It's weird. For the past three years, I didn't care if he had lived or died.

So, at 3:30 I called. I went outside, took a deep breath, lit a cigarette and dialed. We just got off the phone now. At one point, my mother had woken up and I handed the phone to her. The sound of her voice talking to him, she sounded all happy and like her old self again.

We just slipped into some kind of easy conversation as though we hadn't had a messy end to a ruinous relationship that lasted for nearly ten years. He's married now. Seems reasonably happy. And I feel ok about that. Ok, I don't really because it's hard for me to accept that someone I loved for so long, is reasionably happy with just anyone else. It's just...weird to me. But I'm trying to see past that and be an adult, for god's sake. We're old now. I'm 30, he's.....33, I think. So adult-like is how we should be.

Well, he was anyway. There was no hostility in his voice. Our dog is getting old, he had to put down the other one. They have no children. I'm where I am, he is still were he is.

It's just so surreal to hear his voice again.

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