what it all means.


this is a reminder of who you were. that you were capable of smiling without him. that you were a person before you met him. that you can be by yourself. that you’re strong enough to be OK. this is a reminder that you will be OK. i don’t know when, but i can promise you that Millay was wrong when she said time does not bring relief, because it does. but only if you let it.

Moving on means forgiving.

It means forgiving the person who broke your heart. The person whom you trusted and who shattered you into a thousand burning pieces, who tore open your chest and threw your heart into the flames and left you burning in the purgatory that is loneliness. It means forgiving the person who took the choice away from you when they decided that you weren’t worth it. That they just weren’t going to try anymore. That they didn’t even want to try. It means forgiving them, and it means forgiving yourself.

Forgiving yourself for being stupid enough to believe them when they call you. Forgiving yourself for being a masochist for anticipating every email, every text, every 5-minute Skype call, despite the knowledge that the pain in your chest will always ache a little more. Forgiving yourself for anxiously waiting to hear from him, and for feeling so happy when he did, that you feel as though you’d burst. Forgiving yourself for hoping and for setting yourself up, because though the euphoria would last for a while, the emptiness of knowing is worst, and the lows are never worth the highs.

Moving on means understanding.

It means accepting that you deserve more than the life you’d get by his side.

It means accepting that the past is over, and that no amount of wishing could turn it back. It means understanding that it will be uncomfortable, but you have to at least try, because returning to him may be comfortable, but it’s akin to returning home after college. It always feels great to go home, but things change. Your friends have moved away, and the town has grown and it’s never going to feel like the home you remember.

It’s understanding that the confusion you felt, that pang of insistent pain? that’s just leftover emotions from old feelings, because your thoughts, no matter how jumbled, are clouded in fear and regret. You know the truth, but you refuse to admit it to yourself, because it hurts so much that you can’t even extract the words you need to get out.
It’s accepting that everything feels wrong, and nothing seems to be the right thing to say because there’s just something awfully enticing about wanting something you can’t have anymore.

It’s knowing, and accepting, that sometimes… some people aren’t meant to love, only to be loved.
And maybe you did your best. Maybe you screwed them up the way they screwed you over.

Moving on means a huge maybe.

A maybe filled with endless possibilities.

Moving on means letting go.
It means accepting.
It means all of the aforementioned squished together into a washing machine with the spin cycle turned onto the highest so that they all meld into one big ass epiphany.

Moving on means accepting that there is a maybe filled with endless possibilities of letting go. It means forgiving because there is no one at fault here, no one playing the blame game.

Moving on means acknowledging that you’ve arrived at a new chapter in your life. That you’re not a child anymore, and that you are strong enough to face the future with your head held high.

It means acknowledging that there are days when you will want to curl up into a ball and cry because the abyss of hurt is huge and suffocating and threatening, and you will feel like dying. It means acknowledging that there are days when you won’t remember him, and you’ll be able to smile and laugh and go out and meet new people. It means acknowledging that there will be times when you’ll wonder what if, and that it’s OK to miss him. It means acknowledging that the distance is killing you, because absence does not make the heart fonder, instead, it makes you ache for the one you can’t be with.

It means acknowledging that you will be fine, and then better than fine, and eventually, you will be yourself again. A version of you that you can live with, and maybe it’ll start all over. Falling in love and being immeasurably happy, and then breaking up and becoming heartbreakingly sad. Maybe it’ll have a different ending. Maybe you’ll get the happily-ever-after that fairytales seem to boast. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Moving on means taking your time.

It means reminding yourself of who you used to be. It means not resenting the person you used to love. Moving on means you’re not OK yet, but you’re getting there, and someday, you will be.

Moving on is the first step to the rest of forever.


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