January 10th

Dear Diary, 

I am missing him. Again.

It has been a few weeks since I last heard his voice and my heart aches to hear it again right now. I feel a deep sadness and it has fully taken hold of me today. I feel almost desperate to hear his laughter and be the one to bring him joy. I want to hear all about his day and have long conversations on subjects we have discussed a million times before. I want to talk about the impossible dream of a life we could have together. I want to hear him say that he loves me just as much as I love him. 

But I can't because he does not love me. That fact is heartbreakingly true. 

He loves someone else and a future together is something that could never be achieved no matter how much effort is put forth. I fully grasp the reasoning to which I cannot have the man I want and I understand that he wishes to have someone else for his wife but I keep finding myself unable to let go, despite knowing full well that I need to lock his memory away for my sanity. I find myself refusing any advances of romance or love. Despising them, even. I have noticed myself becoming hateful and bitter. I hate that I was not good enough to deserve his love and have found myself sitting and wondering what was wrong with me. He has turned me into a person that I am not and I can slowly feel more and more of myself slipping away. 

Still, I pathetically dream of him and the life I so desperately wish to live with him and only him. I think of a life full of unconditional love and happiness. I wish to come home to a house full of our memories together, the hardships we overcame to be together and all the delights that followed. I dream of Christmas mornings and hearing our children run into the living room to see if Santa had come. I dream of a daughter and a son playing outside with him, chasing them through the garden and playing hide and seek. I long to lay on his chest at the end of the day just to hear his heart beating and find that the rhythm of my own beat is synchronised with his. I want to wake up every morning next to him and breathe in his scent as I hug myself against his back, to wake him with soft kisses on his shoulder and up his neck before making him mine in the most intimate of ways. 

Thinking of taking him roughly, passionately and in every other way in between has become one of my guilty pleasures.

I found my hand straying as I laid in bed thinking of exactly that. I couldn't make myself stop as my hand roamed over my body. I ran my hands over the tops of my breasts as I thought of his tongue in between my legs. I glided my hands down past the waistband of my panties as I imagined his body over mine. I gently rolled my erect nipples between my fingers as I continued to construct the sick, little fantasy of a passion I will never know. 

But I played it through anyway. I wanted to finish it and I needed to. My body would not let me ignore it especially after these past weeks of loneliness.

I trailed my fingers over the wet opening of my slit as I dreamt of his sex pressed against mine. My hand pressed against my clit as I sank one finger inside, just as I imagined he would. The motions of penetration became faster as my mind swam with the thoughts of his love pushing inside of me. I imagined him loving me, thrusting every bit of himself into me and wanting to give himself to no one else. My walls clamped down on my hand as I neared the edge and I could not cease from calling out his name. 

I felt even worse after I brought myself to climax. I felt hollow. As if exploring and loving myself meant nothing. The fact that I had only satisfied my body's needs was apparent. My pleasures no longer pleasures, now that my heart is detached. 

I know in time that this will stop and I will be able to love myself and perhaps even someone else again but right now, that eventual reality seems so far away and I can't make these feelings stop. I know that I must keep living, yet even with all the logic in the world thrown in my face, I cannot bring myself to think of a life without him in it. Right now it is not a reality that I wish to think of. 

As always, diary, it has been a pleasure. 

Sincerely, 

Melinda Chevalier