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It’s been one year since I’ve seen her.
Twelve months and twelve hours since I spent the best night of my life with her.
Twelve months and six hours since I broke her heart like an arsehole by saying goodbye after she told me she loved me.
Oh, who am I kidding? I fucking broke my own heart, too.
It was for the best, though. I remind myself of that every day. This is my calling. What I do here matters. My whole life culminated to the point of joining the priesthood and making a difference in people’s lives. It matters. I’m supposed to do this.
So, why do I keep having to remind myself of that? It shouldn’t be so hard to move on, especially after all this time. I shouldn’t still miss her so much. I made the right decision, so why does it feel like God abandoned me when I chose him over her? I haven’t felt close to Him at all. I felt closer to Him when she was in my life.
To make matters worse, the fucking foxes have been more active lately—absolutely tormenting me. Ever since I left her at that bus stop, so beautiful and sad in that red dress, it’s like they followed me home and took up residence in the priory garden. I can’t even go out back to drink my G&T anymore. They’re always out there—watching. Waiting. I think they’re planning something. What the fuck do they want from me? It’s freaking the shit out of me to see them congregated there every night, staring up at my window.
She’d just laugh at me for freaking out about this, which would make me laugh, and then I’d forget about the fucking foxes. I miss that.
God. I really fucking miss her.
I told her it would pass. What a crock of shit. I’m not sure it will ever pass. At least not for me.
I haven’t laughed in ages. Laughing was so easy with her. Now it’s hard to even smile. I know Pam has noticed. So have my parishioners. I try to be upbeat, but even my restaurant reviews have been overemotional and ridiculous. Last week I wrote a long-winded, furious rant about a canapé, for fuck’s sake!
It’s just that it reminded me of catering. Which reminded me of her. And then I got mad at a cherry tomato.
I’m losing my fucking mind, clearly.
Frustrated with the way my life has gone this last year, I scream up at the sky. “What am I supposed to do? Just give me some sort of sign. Tell me what to do.”
Nothing happens, of course. I don’t really expect it to. God has never been big on words. Especially not lately.
Sighing, I head back into the church. I need to get my head back on straight. Services start soon, and I have no idea what I’m going to talk about.