Dear Heather.

Something To Which I Can't Return

Life happens around us, like a disfigured song in the background of your head, echoing with disoriented vocals, you know something is missing but never know what. And that's the daily routine.

We wake up at 6 in the morning, the 2nd of June, by the time we wash our faces and brush our teeth we hear the fireworks outside celebrating the 4th of July. We walk down the stairs to hear in the news that another shooting occurred in late August. Protesters fall dead in what the TV calls "bloody September".

We sit around the table as our 7 years old daughter, Tarra, shows a picture of what she is going to wear on Halloween next. I get up to pour milk only to smell it and find out that it expired on November the 6th. I ask you if you went to the hospital to check about the inflammation you had last night only to be surprised that this was 8 months and that you're not worried about it.

Meanwhile, I wasted half the day before Christmas obsessing over why my pee looked a bit different barely making it in time for the New Year countdown. I get a stern talking down from your best friend who still doesn't understand why we're together after all these years. I get angry and yell, but the one thing I fail to explain is how I have been chasing time myself.

I Still Can't Return, I Am Still Trying

Life happens to us, as I walk the empty house trying to reach your phone to talk to you and my 12 years old daughter but the number has changed. I go to your parents' house only to find out that you got bored of England's weather after staying there for six months and decided to move to Portugal last year. I didn't even know you were in England.

I try to stay more focused throughout the day on missing you, reading Tarra's blogs about her childhood days ahead of her prom, and how she is not certain whether she misses me. I still can't get her to find my comments or respond to my e-mails.

I get a call from work saying I am late again, I protest that I took a summer vacation to find my daughter in Spain, then I get told that I am fired for not going to work for 5 months. I take my first flight and return home and see that the locks have been changed with my new wife, Catherine, telling me that I should stay somewhere else until the divorce is finalized and we could settle who has custody over our daughter, Tarra, I mean Renee.

Now, I don't even know the place to which I can't return.

I Can't Return, It's Over This Time

Life happens inside us, you see, Catherine, no one can ever love anyone for everything they are. We let the funny us, the smart us, the passionate us prevail at the beginning as the depressing us, the inconsiderate us, and the lazy us slowly resurface. There's a comfort in not trying.

As my body slowly shuts down despite my obsession with getting cured of diseases, I get a message telling me that Heather died as she didn't pay attention to hers. It's been 30 years since life started happening at this accelerated rate. And my biggest problem isn't that can't return, it is that I can't leave.

With Regret.