Last Friday I said “goodbye” to someone very dear to me. Only now am I able to talk about it, after having a week to process the departure. I was always comforted and offered a hot meal when I was there. I was given gifts even when it wasn’t my birthday. We got tipsy from having too much of a good time. I sung his praises to co-workers and friends. Everyone who knows me knows how much I love him. And although people often tell me to try something different, I know what I want. And it has been only him.
My heart breaks thinking that we may never see each other again. Maybe someday in some remote city I will bump into him on pure accident and we will reminisce. But that maybe is mostly a faint hope and hardly a reality. It’s been a week, and my ripped heart is trying to mend itself, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. I will never forget the times we shared. I’ll never forget laughing over dinner and drinks. I’ll never forget driving to Timbukto just to see you after a long week at work. You offered me peace and serenity, if only for an hour. You were my haven away from the chaos a 40-hour-a-week-working-woman-without-kids-or-any-other-responsibilities endures. I’ll never forget you for everything you were to me; I’ll never forget my TGI Fridays.
TGIF will never mean what it once did.
I guess now I’ll put the Olive Garden on speed dial.