Some days, an unexplained heaviness wraps itself around me. On those days, I find myself checking Chris's social media through that fake account again. Did he upload new pictures? Where is he now? What city does he live in? I know it's wrong, but curiosity .
Don't worry—I've moved past this habit. It's been nearly two years since I last checked. My curiosity about him has faded, piece by piece. He's been married for almost seven years now. And I—divorced for three.
What do we expect from life? There's that saying: "Life is what happens when we're busy making other plans." Maybe it's true. Living without plans sometimes feels better. Who would've thought I'd marry someone else, have a child, and then get divorced? Who would've thought that Chris—the very man who never believed in marriage—would be the first to walk down the aisle?"
One day, during my post-divorce haze, I gave in and checked his profile again. And there it was: every photo of him and his wife—gone. No wedding tags. No anniversary posts. Nothing. Was Chris getting divorced?
God, what a surprise.
I didn't know whether to message him or not. I didn't have the courage. But I kept checking his page occasionally. Everything stayed the same. I waited—two, maybe three months. I told myself: If I still live in his thoughts, he'll find me. He'll reach out. These days, it's easy to find someone—one click, one message. But he didn't. He never did.
I was still dealing with the emotional wreckage of a divorce with a child involved, and clearly, there was no room for me in Chris's mind. About four months later, I saw that they had reconciled—new photos with his wife surfaced. A year after that, they posted a family portrait—with a little girl. She looked just like him. A beautiful child.
That night, I dreamt of Chris again. In the dream, we were walking down a hill, through a town of narrow streets and old houses. At one point, I climbed onto his back, and we stood in front of a window, looking at our reflection in the glass. He turned to me and said,
"You're too heavy to carry."
Tell me, Chris... was I the weight?
It's been nearly three years since that dream, and yet I can still picture it vividly—every street, every moment. My dreams of him are always stretched across vast timelines. He always says something. It always means something.