My heart broke unbeknownst to me, one fraction of an hour at a time, for years, until I found myself refreshing my email inbox, waiting for something new to appear from him, and slowly realizing that it won't. They say a lot of things when you are mourning the loss of a person you loved, but when you find yourself standing outside the building where you used to work, half hiding, half hoping for a familiar face, where are the words to move on from the people that had become your second family?
I worked in the same place for eight years. There, we laughed over Star Trek, and cried over boys, and in December, our boss would put on a Santa hat and sing Christmas carols in the lobby even though he was the word's busiest man. There, a donut, from him, sat on my chair if I had a bad day, and a poppyseed bagel with cheddar and tomato was the start to a Monday. There, Eric ran a half-marathon by my side when I was dehydrated. There, Sam and I drank the world's largest peppermint mochas and discussed why Mark's Work Warehouse is actually a respectable store to shop in. There, I fell on the ground in the haunted house we made with Amy, because the garbage bag I wore got in the way. There, we saved a baby bat, and a barbershop trio came in to serenade me, and Shawn took apart a drain pipe because I dropped my ring in the sink, and Scott brought me three hundred empty cardboard boxes when I asked for five, and Julie called me, though she had moved to the south end of the city, to say good-bye. There, love was, in little rays of seven and half hour stretches a day. I never expected this life to mean so much to me still.
With each interview, there is no one like my boss. With each job offer, I find myself succumbing to the brokenness of a five year old with a lost doll. They say you need to put yourself out there, to give other people a chance, but nothing feels like family anymore, even three years later. I think this is where they would say I'm not yet ready to move on, the way they would had I begun to date again after a heartbreak. I never thought losing a work family could mean as much as it has here, but I am nobody to them now, and I am nobody to the face interviewing me this week. This too, shall pass - they say that, and they are right. One day the memory of everyone will be farther away, I will stop walking by my building, I will not look up at my window, I will not hope to hear from them, I will not wonder if they think of me. Though, as it is when someone breaks your heart, the question never leaving my heart is: when?
I worked in the same place for eight years. There, we laughed over Star Trek, and cried over boys, and in December, our boss would put on a Santa hat and sing Christmas carols in the lobby even though he was the word's busiest man. There, a donut, from him, sat on my chair if I had a bad day, and a poppyseed bagel with cheddar and tomato was the start to a Monday. There, Eric ran a half-marathon by my side when I was dehydrated. There, Sam and I drank the world's largest peppermint mochas and discussed why Mark's Work Warehouse is actually a respectable store to shop in. There, I fell on the ground in the haunted house we made with Amy, because the garbage bag I wore got in the way. There, we saved a baby bat, and a barbershop trio came in to serenade me, and Shawn took apart a drain pipe because I dropped my ring in the sink, and Scott brought me three hundred empty cardboard boxes when I asked for five, and Julie called me, though she had moved to the south end of the city, to say good-bye. There, love was, in little rays of seven and half hour stretches a day. I never expected this life to mean so much to me still.
With each interview, there is no one like my boss. With each job offer, I find myself succumbing to the brokenness of a five year old with a lost doll. They say you need to put yourself out there, to give other people a chance, but nothing feels like family anymore, even three years later. I think this is where they would say I'm not yet ready to move on, the way they would had I begun to date again after a heartbreak. I never thought losing a work family could mean as much as it has here, but I am nobody to them now, and I am nobody to the face interviewing me this week. This too, shall pass - they say that, and they are right. One day the memory of everyone will be farther away, I will stop walking by my building, I will not look up at my window, I will not hope to hear from them, I will not wonder if they think of me. Though, as it is when someone breaks your heart, the question never leaving my heart is: when?
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