I wish I could bottle my feelings the way you collect jars of beach sand after you come home from a vacation. It would be easier to keep the pieces together. The thing is that I miss her.
I miss her like someone would miss a limb, or air. Beatrice was all my world, the perfect woman, my angel. The ache I feel when I force myself not to text or call her tears me apart.
I want her to be happy which she wasn't with me. I blame myself for that.
I started to avoid everything related to Bea. I kept seeing her everywhere, dreaming of her. I felt dead inside. I slowly removed every painful memory from my house and workplace.
Pictures, DVDs, Christmas gifts all packed and stacked in the basement under a blanket, out of sight. I also deleted the messages.
I did my best to carry on, week after week.
Alas, you’re never safe in such a case.
Like most people, I have a morning routine. Get up. Shower. Shave. Have breakfast.
My sister, Hannah, knew I liked corrnflakes and always managed to give me some boxes, when she came to visit.
So, I went to grab one of those to pour some scrumptious oatmeal cereals into my bowl of milk.
I was about to have a spoonful of the deliciousness, when I noticed what was floating on the surface of the liquid, the only thing I wasn’t able to completely get rid of.
The spoon clattered on the floor, the package followed it but I didn't really notice because I was already breaking down in a sobbing mess. Hannah brought me cereal letters.
And my bowl was full of “B”. “B” as in “beautiful”, like her. “B” for “Beatrice”.