Can we close the book on this chapter at least?

It seems that the arrival of Spring has brought more than just newly formed buds to the fore. Strangely, people that I know have decided to come out of their wintry hibernation.

I was quietly typing away in Messenger the other evening, chatting to Wishtup and generally enjoying my evening. When a message flashed to my screen from B. B who wooed me wonderfully last year. B who smelt lovely and kissed sweetly. B who dumped me, citing a preference for work. B.

It seemed he was on for a chat, wanting to know what I was up to at the moment. He complained about work, about his boss, about being single. And I have to say, I tried to be compassionate. Well, for a very brief period of time. But, try as I might, I kept thinking, "Why is this tosser talking to me?", "What does he want?", and worth noting, "Why doesn't he just fuck off?".

By contrast, I was contacted via an online service by a girl with whom I attended High School. I never really knew her that well at school. She was a different clique to me. I did the geeky Debating Club things and studied Physics. She took the more applied courses, having expressed no desire in formal tertiary education, and I probably considered her a little "other side of the tracks" to me. So to get a message from her, was surprising to say the least, and even more so when she rang. We chatted about what we have done in the last 18 (!!) years and what brought us to this city so far from our home town. Eventually, she began to tell me about what made her start contacting people from High School, and why she contacted some, but not others.

She said that of all the people in the online listing, she felt she could contact me, and know that I would have left the past in its place. And, she remembered me because I was loud and raucous. I honestly don't remember any teenage angst that I may have felt towards her then, but in those hormone-ravaged years, I may have sworn unholy vengeance on someone for even looking at a boy I liked. So who knows.

So I sit here, on the night of my dreaded Wedding Anniversary, a day which has on occasion made me melancholy. I contemplate that in the past week I have had unkind thoughts towards B, clearly not letting the past go, but also been contacted because of a sense that I indeed can let by-gones be indeed gone.

As another year's anniversary date draws to a close, I beg my sub-conscious to understand that the past is done and dusted. No more annual reminders of a failed marriage. No more dreams of lost love and things that could have been.

No more.