A Letter To My Lost Love

Dear Shrimp,

I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me. It's been a long time, I know. I spent ages debating the wisdom of reaching out, but summer… summer was our time. Ceviche by the pool, tacos at the bar, you, me, and a barbecue grill… the memories linger. I honestly cannot sip a cool beer on these hot summer nights and not think of you. I suppose that is why I am writing this. I think of you and I cannot help but wonder, do you think of me? I still love you. I think I always will. I wish I could tell you that it's me and not you. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but, Shrimp, it is you. You’ve just become… toxic for me.

We had a good run, decades of bliss, and adventure. I still thrill at the risks we took with those shady food trucks and unexpected combinations. I still instinctually think of you when I make plans. If I had only known where it was all leading, I would have spent more time together. I would have indulged in the bacon-wrapped version of you, the skewered version of you, hell, every version of you. The worst of it is that it isn’t even just you. It's your family I’m losing too. We were all so close, and then suddenly… it was like you were all trying to end me. I was waking unable to breathe. I was spending weeks recovering from even the shortest visit. I suppose all good things come to an end at some point. Life is tragic like that.

I don’t know what it says about me that I carry a torch for a whole family that could easily see me severely ill, but here I am anyway. I still tell people how sweet you are. I still encourage people to meet you. I still gaze wistfully from across the restaurant. If by some miracle, I could enjoy you again I would take you back in less than a heartbeat. I am that girl. I am trying to make peace with that. Do you see what loving you has done to me? I’m like a girl in one of those star-crossed romances, but there is no happy ending for us, is there? This is the kind of loss that sticks.

A bonafide, blood test confirmed allergy has ripped us apart more soundly than any age-old feud or dark secret ever could. This is the kind of tragic permanence that no amount of work or wishing can overcome. The kind of sudden heartbreak that has no remedy. Is it a protein compound? Is it the iodine in your blood? Is it a curse laid on me by some dark nemesis I’ve forgotten? Would the answers mean anything if I had them? I don’t think anything makes losing you better.

My words are surely trite, but I hope you’re happy without me. I hope that one day I am happy without you. I want you to know that there is no satisfying substitute for you, and that is not for lack of trying on my part. I also humbly ask that you stop showing up where I don’t expect you, and certainly not where you are not invited. I spent days recovering the last time you invaded my tinned salmon. Don’t hurt me like that, not when you can surely be happy with others. Move on, Shrimp. Move on knowing that at least one woman loved you deeply enough that she will never forget.

With Unending Yearning,

Patricia