I am exhausted. I would much rather be sleeping, but I promised myself that I'd relate something that happened to me last night (again, just before heading to bed.)
A coworker asked how long S and I had been together. I replied by telling her two years. She then asked if I was angry over the waste of time, or if I regretted it.
Without thinking, I said, "No. I was happy; it was beautiful. I don't regret what we had, even though it ended like it did. I don't reflect on those two years as a waste, at all. They were perfect. I only regret how it ended. That it ended. I regret losing what I imagined -- what we imagined -- would be our life together."
As I type this, I'm reminded of that damned Frasier episode. "You're not grieving over having lost your girlfriend, you're grieving over the life you thought you'd have." How true. But maybe not. I think I grieve for both.