Really Good, Actually

by Monica Heisey

Now I was back to my resting state: assuming I would be alone forever.

It felt humiliating to admit it, but without a partner to dissect things with, the big and small events of life seemed flimsy.

“You caught me at a good time,” I said. “I’ve been reading a lot of Esther Perel.”

As time passed, I knew, little details like this would fade from my memory; I would fixate less often on our relationship and the low-grade horror of its ending. One day I would climb into bed with a sandwich and think, I used to have a name for this, and not know what it was.

This one made me cry; it scares me to know I won’t remember all the things I want.