John and Yoko: (I will never write about this ever again)

We went and saw an exhibition of John Lennon's art work and it was beautiful and touching. There was this series of "erotics" of naked Yoko or John and Yoko having sex and all that. I'd never seen these works before. Really different than the usual doodle-y things he does. I looked at everything so hard, I got so close to the paintings. I was in there a good half hour longer than everyone else.
And then, I went outside and I cried and cried and cried. John and Yoko were very big symbols to me and my John. They represent an ideal, perfect love that was able to overcome and obstacle (existing marriage, drug addiction, public scrutiny and disapproval, racial barriers, the fucking Beatles, a fucking government conspiracy, and even death). And they were perfect inspirational artistic muses for each other. And they loved each other, and their cat, and later on their little boy.
And Jon and I felt like that, like our partnership was written in the stars and that just by being together we could change the world. He was my strange, small Asian love. Look, we even made t-shirts.
And then it started to change. And then he left. And I'm not saying I didn't do anything nasty, because I did. But he's the one who left.
And I did everything to bring him back Even though things weren't good at the end, I knew we could make it better. I mean, even the Ono-Lennon's had their famed "lost weekend", where Yoko made John date her assistant and he kept showing up at clubs wearing a maxi pad on his forehead. They fixed it. They wanted to fix it and they did. Not all the methods I used to try to get Jon to fix things with me were positive ones, but at least I tried. He didn't try.
As of last week, it's officially over.
Seven years together, three months of marriage. It's strange to really, really hate someone who you also love more than anyone else in the world.
And Valentine's Day is the anniversary of our first date. We went to a party in Davis that was themed "Sex and Violence" and I dressed up as Uma Thurman in "Pulp Fiction" with a mark for where to stab me with a hypodermic needle full of adrenaline. Jon didn't dress as anything, he took too much cold medicine. It was all OK, though. It was wonderful.
It's also the anniversary of the first time we had sex. (They were co-occurring events). Yes, we lost our virginities to each other). He was so sweet. "The Mars Volta" was playing.
The fact that this person, the person who has been the very most important person in my adult life, has gone, seems pretty much unimaginable. I'm shocked, I'm heartbroken, and I guess I need a new boyfriend? Sorry about that flippancy. I don't know, it's just... my desire for male approval is sky high. But if HE ever, EVER is with someone else, I'll lay down and die. That is the very worst thing that could ever happen. I would rather the world ended.
I know he will be pissed I wrote this. I don't care. I need to be honest and open for this one. My heart hurts. I can't care about what he wants me to do anymore, because no matter what I can't change his mind about me. Jon, what happened to John and Yoko? I thought we'd always have Valentine's day.