I’ve been running into my exes lately. First, I saw one with his girlfriend of several years, the one who came after me (or sort of during me) at a local bar, across the patio. Then, the other night, a song by The Mountain Goats came on—my third ex’s favorite band. I fell down a long rabbit hole of melody and nostalgia. I poured some wine and played a game of mentally noting which songs I thought fit us then and which I now think fit what it was, in all the infinite clarity a few years and a lot of reflection can provide.
Today, I checked my most recent ex’s blog. I hoped he was doing well, and the Internet makes it so easy to give in to these idle lunch break curiosities. I saw a new relationship unfolding across the past several posts up to the most recent—in which he calls her his girlfriend. I wondered what she looks like, how they met, if he’s happy. I thought about the post where they celebrated his birthday—an occasion we never agreed on and had gotten into a terrible fight over.
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