The impossible conversation
Even now, my morning routine involves stepping into the shower and saying "Oh, <her name>!". I used to remind myself that I will never see her again and then get on with the rest of the day.
Of course, the ritual had to change when one day, quite unexpectedly, I did see her again.
Now, I remind myself that even if I ever do see her again I shall never again have a pleasurable conversation with her.
That was certainly true on our last chance meeting in 2007 and has, in fact, been true since she hung up on my life for good in January 1999.
Although that phone call ended amicably, I knew that it would likely be the last for a while. It took me a long time to realise, and then accept, that it would be our last phone call ever.
Thinking about the impossible conversation is not very rewarding, because I am brutally realistic about what it would be like. I'd be on my guard about expressing any sadness or resentment about the long alienation and she would simply be on her guard about expressing anything at all. I'd be afraid of asking questions that might impinge on her sense of privacy and security. In the unlikely event that she told me anything about her life I would again feel sad about being excluded from it.
The reason I desire the impossible conversation is not for the communication; I have expressed almost all I have to say in these pages and she has nothing to say.
No, the reason I desire the conversation is exactly the reason it is impossible. Such a conversation would represent a new beginning; a new chance to build a relationship of some kind with her. And that, quite simply, is why it is impossible.