I've been reading through my journals and came across a piece I wrote on a Valentine's Day not long before Michael and I got together. (So, no, this isn't about me and Michael.)
It's a time capsule of Valentine's past and a reminder that the most important relationship any of us has, is with ourselves.
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February 14, 1995
New York, NY
He called this morning.
I hadn't heard from him in months, but knew he'd call today. Because it's Valentine's Day? Because he likes to mess with my hard-won peace of mind? I don't really know.
Even though I knew he'd call, when I picked up the phone I was thinking it would be my friend, Melissa, or Carol, my neighbor,...or anyone, really, except him.
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I surprise myself when I answer his "Hello.", with "Don't call me anymore, okay?" I don't recognize myself; I sound like Maureen O'Sullivan-no-nonsense, serious-as-a-heart-attack. But, then I'm not sure what to do. I stand there staring at the blank white wall in front of me, hearing the sudden clatter of my heartbeat, and the startled silence at the other end of the line.