I know that when I subject you to a silent treatment or I have discarded you that you will think of me more than anything else. This is all by design. Your mind becomes a whirling thought engine as the questions loom and dart about your mind like swooping spirits. Why did he do this? What did I do wrong? Where has he gone? Why won’t he talk to me? Is he with someone else now? How could he treat me like this? These questions and many of a similar nature remain at the forefront of your mind. They are exhausting as you grapple to find the answers, always achieving an unsuccessful outcome.
I cast you to one side, you did not leave me and cause me to apply a Grand Hoover in order to bring you back under my spell. I saw no need for you anymore and therefore I was content to throw you on the scrap heap, broken and spent, a broken appliance left to its own considerations and dwelling heavily on this cruel treatment. One of the questions which charges around your mind as you try to sleep is does he think about me? You wonder whether I am lying on my bed in a similar state of anxiety, mulling over what has happening. Your thoughts spill and tumble and whilst you want to dispel these memories you cannot help but want to embrace them, experiencing that bitter sweet sensation of both delight and agony. You try to get into a comfortable position hoping that slumber will soon drag you into unconsciousness so that the pain will evaporate, if just for a few hours. Yet, even the place you now lie in evokes the image of you and I coupled together, wrapped up in one another as we made love through the night, or at least you felt we made love. Did you make love to on another? Yet again a question leaps into your mind. I am everywhere. You consider whether I think about the treatment that you have received and do I feel guilty for behaving that way? Do I have a reason for hurling you to one side so callously and am I wondering whether you are all right? Just as you hold onto the precious memories of the golden period you wonder whether I am similarly replaying them through my mind, recalling the wonderful times, the delicious things we did together. You can summon it all in such detail. The places we went to, the other people there, what day of the week it was, even the exact date. You remember what we wore, what we ate and what was said as the memories tumble through head. As the clock shows it is now closer to morning than it was to the evening, you wonder whether we are thinking about you in a similar fashion?
While you toss and turn in your bed which resembles a place to be endured rather than a place of comfort, I am fast asleep. From the moment my head touched the pillow I fell asleep free from thoughts about you. No imp sits on my shoulder jabbing me with a precious memory and keeping me from sleeping. Whilst you ruminate, cogitate, fathom and review, I am oblivious to everything. During my waking hours you do not invade my consciousness. There is too much to be done, too much fuel to extract as I deal with looking after and nurturing the new primary source of my fuel which replaced you. Truth be told it was more of an overlap with both you and her supplying me fuel until the old stale trickle was switched off and dumped. In my mind you never existed. My fixation with the new prospect and her golden, delicious, potent fuel means that everything is focussed on her. Her seduction and the maintenance of supply dominates my mind save when I am extracting my fuel from the range of supplementary sources that I interact with throughout the day. I may drink from the mug you once bought me to recognise I support a particular football team but there is no flicker of recognition about you. I do not halt, cup in hand, halfway to my mouth and smile at that trip to the stadium when you insisted on buying half the contents in order to please me. It is just a mug to me but the coffee contained in it and prepared by my new prospect is delicious and I tell her so. Her beaming smile provides me with that dollop of fuel as expected. To me it is just a mug bearing the crest of my football team. The link you had to that piece of ceramic has been severed and cast into the abyss.
I may still wear the jumper you bought me but I never consider that weekend away in the highlands when I complained about being cold so you purchased it for me. I may walk past someone who wears the same fragrance as you. I do not remember you as I smell it, not the way you remember me when you smell my cologne and you remember me next to you and that emptiness washes over you once again. I just think that it is a pleasant scent and carry on walking by. It is as if I have pressed delete and you have been erased. You never existed, your thoughts, words and actions all melt away. Your connections to me are severed, your presence eradicated and your memory denied. I have switched off that appliance and everything associated with it has been obliterated. We do not think of you because at this point we have no need to think of you. You serve no purpose to us and therefore remembering you and I is a redundant exercise and a waste of our time and energy.
There is of course one sure fire method however to make us think of you once again. A failsafe way of resurrecting all those memories again for us. It is almost as if you are a memory stick and you have been plugged into us, causing the flood of recollections to pour into us, strong and distinct. You can be assured that doing this will make us remember everything about you. Show yourself to us in some way, contact us or walk into our view and in doing so you will fire up those memories in an instant as our eyes lock on you and we recover those deleted thoughts in readiness to use them once again to Hoover you back into our grasp in readiness to extract that Hoover fuel from you. Do that and you can guarantee that I will be thinking about you.