I got an email from my ex today.  That, in and of itself, wouldn't have bothered me at all.  When we split, we both agreed it was for the best, but also agreed we would remain friends.  After all, a relationship that began as friends could surely end as friends.

 He had included pictures...some of his work at the museum (he's an artist, a painter); some of those pictures included him, and I was struck by a few things as I looked through them.  He isn't anywhere near as good-looking as I remembered.  That was good, to me.  Easier.

 The next thing was that his looks still didn't matter.  That's bad.

 I don't know if it's really him that I miss, or if it's simply that period of time in my life.  I loved the community on the reserve, miss my friends there terribly.  I loved being able to walk to the store, walk to my best friend's house, just walk down the street, and maybe see a black bear, or an eagle catching the thermals in the sky above me.

 The falls there are gorgeous this time of year, and I won't see them, or the beach, or the spectacular sunsets that are said to be second only to those in Hawaii.

I no longer end the day with paint all over me.  There are still spots of blue paint on my sandals, though.  An everyday reminder of what I'm not doing, who I'm not seeing, where I'm not living.

 So...yeah.  I miss him.