I Thought I Was Over It

We broke up fifteen months ago.

And I really thought I'd long since moved on.

I saw him, and he's put on quite a bit of weight, Jason said.

A photograph, pulled from his website, confirmed my friend's observation.

At first, this made me giddy.

He has grown worse in my absence, I thought, smug and righteous and full of schadenfreude.

But the more I thought on it, the sadder his fatness - and my reaction to his fatness - made me.

My glee suggested an unhealthy degree of attachment, for people who aren't invested just don't give a damn about such trivial things.

His weight gain signified to me that he is drinking, frequently and heavily.

And that realization killed whatever small shred of joy I found in his increased girth.

That realization impressed upon me just how sick he still is, and just how not-over-it I still am.