And one more thing… Because there’s always one more thing…
It’s different this time in so many ways. I don’t know why.
I’d love to tell you that it was because it was genuine and that for the first time my fear of loneliness wasn’t guiding my hurt. But I don’t know.
I’d love to tell you that it’s because I know he’ll be back one day. But I don’t.
I’d love to tell you that it’s because I know there’s better out there. But I’m not sure that I believe that either.
I don’t know if this was more real or everything in the past was. All I know is that it’s all different and I think and of him and feel sad, lonely, and empty, but the world keeps turning.
I’m not talking endlessly to my friends about it.
I’m not thinking of him and constantly bursting into tears and panicking at being alone.
I’m not shutting down.
I’m not writing stories about him.
I’m not trying to drink it away.
I’m not lying in bed, paralysed with fear.
I’m not thinking about who the next guy I could date might be. In fact, I got asked out yesterday and I was more uninterested than I can ever remember being. I wasn’t sad or dramatic, I was just done.
I’m not selling the drama and writing you endless blog posts about how hurt I am in the hope that he’ll read them and so that you all know how much I’ve been through and how it must’ve been real.
I’m not giving him some dumb nickname.
I’m not making excuses for what happened and rationalising how many ways I could forgive him if he came back.
I’m not stuck on how this means I’ll be alone and I’ll never have anyone else.
I’m not obsessed with the idea of meeting someone new or making lists in my head of all the reasons I should hate him.
I’m not fixating on how unfair it all is and how romantic it would be if if if…
I’m not doing the things I usually do. And I don’t know.
I miss his smile. His dimples. His laugh. I miss his presence. I miss how I feel when he’s around. I miss listening to his stories. The way he tells the same ones over and over but it doesn’t bother me. The way I told him who I really was and he listened. He smiled. I miss the way his eyes meet mine and it all stops for a little while and calms down so that I can breathe. I miss him.
And I don’t know what any of that means or why it feels different or why this time, when this time above all others it feels like I should stop, I’m still going. I’m still getting through the day and doing the things that will make me feel better. I’m not crying, I’m not letting myself be sad, I’m not locked away in my house when there is a whole world out there and experiences waiting to happen.
It’s different. And I don’t know.