Breaking up, saying goodbye, is hard to do. The memories hurt the worst. I remember that afternoon I spent marching in the RNC protest. He was with us all in spirit and in my heart. I remember the buttons I handed out to eager supporters, all of us lovers of this man who would, come November, win our highest office and make this topsy-turvy puppy-love romance a reality.
I remember those late night evenings huddled in front of television watching him debate. His eloquence, his charm, his vigor invigorated me and pulled me into the entire process. I knew him for such a short time, but he meant so very much to me.
And yeah, he didn’t want marriage, but he’d certainly never rule it out completely. And yeah that other guy he traveled with was awfully pretty, but I simply couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
He was kind of dorky. He grew on me though. I was a little cold at first. I’ll admit it now that it’s all over. His extreme sports photos with him sail-surfing and hunting seemed a bit staged. But it was part of his charm.
I guess any new relationship you compare to your prior ones. This one had so much potential. I mean he was no Bill. Oh Bill. I still love you. My family still loves you. We all still love you Bill. You were my first. I miss you, but our romance ran it’s course. We had some good times.
And I don’t feel inclined to discuss my current, lingering affair. If only I could leave this abusive relationship. If only America had taken that chance.
But we didn’t.
Now those memories of the summer of 2004 are all I have. I’ll still see him around sometimes. He’ll be on the Senate floor and he’ll be outspoken when doofus fucks up. But all we have are those old buttons, maybe a t-shirt or a homemade protest sign. I’ll put all those into my memory chest and try not to imagine “what if”.
But it’s so difficult not to.