What could have been

Once in awhile I drift into thoughts of what could have been. I think about the boy who loved me, Jay. My first love. I thought he would be easy to forget. But here I am, 6 years later, thinking about him. Just on occasion, the nights I am sad. The nights when my husband falls asleep without asking how my day was. The nights he forgets to kiss me, touch me, or say something nice. I think about the boy who loved me, who wrote me loves notes and bought me cards for every reason and occasion. I think about the mean things I said to him, because I wasn't ready for love, back then.

It's a dangerous place to be, thinking about what could have been. A small yearning develops and I find myself thinking the grass is greener anywhere but where I am. The truth is, if my first love had stayed my only love, I would be bitching about something else. Every relationship has its hang-ups and disappointments. I just traded my problems with Jay for a whole new set of problems. My husband is exciting, adventurous and spontaneous- all the things I yearned for while I was with Jay. And now I don’t get love letters or even an ‘I Love You’, for that matter.

I know I have to be grateful for what I have. Sometimes it’s really difficult. Some nights I feel like I got the shaft. But in the morning, over a cup of coffee, I am reminded of why I stay. I am reminded of the good in my life, in my husband. And I am happy.

And so I stood having my petulant little memorial service for the self that never got to be. And then I let it go, moved back into the head and heart of a monogamous married woman with a child who loved her husband and a son and her granite kitchen counters and knew how much she had to be grateful for.

Elizabteh Berg.

Girl One