I can feel the remainders of you slip from my fingers.
It’s funny, and sad, and awkward all at the same time when you realize that the saddest part about breaking up with someone is that all the information you’ve gathered about them, becomes useless.
That when they leave, the part that they rip from you isn’t your soul, or your heart. It’s the part that they once inhabited, for so long. The emptiness that remains are the spaces they used to occupy, so that when they leave, it’s akin to seeing a dustless, empty spot in an otherwise full shelf.
So you play sad songs to try and fill the silences they leave.
You write words to try and hear theirs.
You do things to try and distance yourself from their memory because you remember a time before them, when you were fine, and you wonder why it hurts now. Why you could live before they came, with their hurricane like powers and whipped through your life: an adventure – short lived – so that you’re left to deal with the destruction.
You wonder how you’re going to rebuild yourself. If you can even survive this.
After a while, you realize you did.
Everyone spews clichés of time and love, and life, and death because clichés may just be the only truths in this universe that makes sense to us. The abrupt endings that we don’t see coming, the loves that we knew were bound to end… there aren’t any simple breakups, and they’re almost always messy. Because love is a messy thing.
I’ve learnt that the hardest part isn’t letting go.
It’s realizing that something you were once a part of, something that once belonged to you, no longer does. The part that hurts is suddenly remembering something, and realizing that that part of your life is over. It’s going out to lunch at a new restaurant and seeing their favourite food, or passing a bookstore and seeing a book on display that you know they’ll love. It’s the realization that the life you built up together, no longer matters. That they will walk down the aisle with someone else. That they’re starting to build up a new life with someone else.
No, the painful part is knowing that you have to start all over again. And the fear that you may never find someone to love as passionately once more.
So the process restarts.
You enter with caution, and maybe, if you’re lucky, it’ll never end. But mostly, it ends with heartbreak. And you’re left with a mess of poems, pictures and memories that sit in the back of your drawer collecting dust.
I can feel the remainders of you slipping from my memories, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, to feel glad that I’ve moved on, or to be sad that someone who used to be so important to me is nothing more than a stranger again.
It’s funny, and awkward, and sad, and emotionless all at the same time.
You never quite notice the moment you begin to smile effortlessly again, when the laughs just flow out of your being, unhindered by the empty chasm that they left behind when they left. You never quite notice when you grab the old t-shirt they left behind unintentionally, and wear it to sleep without feeling any form of nostalgia… you never quite notice the little moments that lead up to you being fine, until quite suddenly, you find yourself in love again.
It leaves you with a fear that things might end, but you hope for the best, and you pray that maybe, this time it’ll last.