There are days, whether single or dating someone, when I miss an ex-boyfriend. I feel like a freak admitting this, however, it makes sense to me. If you spend a prolonged amount of time with someone in a very intimate way and then lose them, it’s only natural that after they leave, you mourn. And I guess, if you’re me, it’s only natural that much, much later you still have moments of mourning. Or reminiscing. I’m not sure what you’d call it.

Sometimes, I think of them and smile. Aw, I will think, that was so cute and fun and perfect.

Sometimes, I get lost on the way home from Target in the middle of autumn because I’m crying and I can’t pay attention to the street signs because you know, Target just brings out the lover in me. WAHHHHHHHH BEDSHEETS AND ELECTRONICS, I AM ALL ALONE!

Not that that ever happened to me.

Either way, these days still happen to me. I wonder if they will ever stop. I suppose not. However morbid it may be, I liken it to death. In essence, these are people who have died and I will keep them in my heart and remember them always and be grateful for the times we had, blah blah, wah wah. And when I can do that, it’s nice. It makes it seem worth it. Like I have something to show for all that time and effort and the pain of the ending, even though, in a material sense, I don’t have anything.

“I am having an X Day,” I will announce to my roommate.

He will sigh at this point in commiseration. And then he will say, “You don’t miss him. You miss the idea of him.”

This is a very helpful thing to say to me because I tend to only remember the good things about all my ex’s.

“I don’t miss the idea! I MISS HIM! HE WAS PERFECT!” I will argue.

My roommate is never convinced and will rattle off a laundry list of all the things I used to complain about or struggle with. I somehow seem to ignore this while I’m daydreaming of all the ways I can make the relationship work again.

“But,” I will protest, “Remember that time I came home and he put up blinds in my room to make it dark enough so I could get a good night’s sleep? REMEMBER THAT?!”

“Laura,” my roommate points out slowly, “Those blinds fell down on you while you were sleeping at 2 am. And when you broke up, you had holes in the wall for months until you spackled them up with Plaster of Paris.”

“BUT IT WAS STILL SO NIIIIICE!” I will wail and lay down on the kitchen floor.

I guess it’s that I prefer to remember all the times he made me dinner or drove eight hours to see me for one day or taught me how to drive stickshift in the Barnes and Noble parking lot. Maybe I just like to combine all my ex’s into One Perfect Person who doesn’t really exist. I think this is somewhat natural for every woman but especially so for someone like me, who is more comfortable taking the blame for things than blaming others. The reason we didn’t work was because of me. They were perfect. I am imperfect. Hooray, Catholic upbringing.

Today I was having an X day. And yes, I believe that most of the time, I am indeed missing the idea of him. I am missing the idea of having someone around who will make me laugh and who will listen to me whine about being tired and who will make me a cup of tea while they hear about my day. Yes, I miss that idea. But honestly, there are some days and many nights when I don’t miss the idea. I just miss him.

And I wonder if that’s how it will always be.