An attempt to clear the thoughts out of my head so I'm not so heavy in my bed.
Sometimes, like now, I miss our relationship a little. I miss the lazy Sunday mornings I spent falling in love with you like wishing on stars (my stars turned out to be airplanes and I wished on things that were always leaving) and the sleepy Saturday nights with our bodies stretched out in bed with the fan on. I miss car rides and long conversation. I miss icecream dates and late night phone conversations.
But then the longer I think about these things, the more the nostalgia fades and the memories crack. I've managed to turn them over and over in my hands until I've found the sharp corners, the things that unravel the dreams by the seams. All those memories soured by the impression of you that you've left me with. All the memories I had in colour are turning black and white, the greyscale of disappointment. Lazy Sunday mornings feel flimsy, sleepy Saturday nights hollow. The car rides and long conversation feel like fillers, stuffing and fluff. The icecream dates and late night conversations like punctuation in long sentences of blabber. Everything tastes like acid now.
I know that one day - maybe, hopefully not one day soon - I will love cuddling on Sunday mornings and watching movies on Saturday nights again. One day I will experience these things again in colour. I will eat all the icecream and have all the long conversations with someone new, someone that is not you. And this is the realisation that broke the mourning. I will move on from you, and quickly too. I will not linger where I am not wanted. I have grown too big for these memories of you, the you I loved. I fit awkwardly in the past. I have done so much growing in a week. I have grown and stretched. I no longer fit in my bed. Everything is spilling out of my head.
Thinking about you does not hurt. Missing you does not hurt. Seeing you does not hurt. Hearing your name does not hurt. It all just tastes like acid burning at the back of my throat. Everything has a sour taste of resentment. I tried so hard not to resent you, but now I submit fully to this like all the other stages I have gone through in a week and a half. I submit so it will pass. I will let my resentment colour you black and white. I will forget that once you were red and blue too. I have taken you off the pedestal. I accept that you will not be the boy in the greyscale memories anymore. You too do not fit in those memories. You have shrunk yourself down, squeezed yourself in a box, tucked yourself into a corner. I have let you. I am letting you.
I am working on forgiving you. Every morning I wake hoping I will stop gnashing my teeth at the sound of your name. I realise this has a lot more to do with me than it does with you - I held you to unrealistic expectations. I expected you to be kind, gentle, understanding, soft, full, honest, godlike. I held you to these things like knife to throat. I forgot to make room for you to be human. I forgot to make room for you to be human. I am working on forgiving myself, too. Forgiving myself is more important anyways. (And I hope I don't sound selfish, but I am selfish. I am more important to me than you are. Even if this wasn't always the case.)
I am also working on the bitterness. I still have moments when I hope you wander absently into those corners that you tucked me into, and that you regret some of the choices that you made. I hope sometimes I cross your mind and it makes you taste acid, too. I find myself passing your car and hoping you sometimes sit there and remember me on the backseat. I hope in your memories I am laughing. I hope while you remember me, and you regret, I am still laughing. I hope you miss the way I love you, sometimes, and I hope you struggle to find someone who loves you the way I did. I hope you sample ten thousand kinds of love looking for my taste again. I know this is all very childish, but I want to know that I meant something to you even though you pretend you are unfazed. I want to know that I can move you to regret, because I am human. But I am working on wishing you well, wishing you better.
I am surprisingly at peace with a number of things. I am at peace knowing that I did the best I could have. I no longer regret stripping myself to skin and insecurity for you. I am not sorry that my insecurities must have choked the life out of you. I know I tried, and that's enough. One day I'll find someone who will try too - and we will try together and never give up. I won't be perfect and they won't be perfect either, but it will be perfect enough. I am at peace with the end of our relationship. I am at peace with the thought that maybe we will never be anything to each other, ever again. I am at peace knowing there is probably nothing left for us to return to - not even friendship. I will not force anything, and that will be okay. I have run out of urges to message you. I have run out of things left to say to you. I don't feel like I owe you any more of my honesty. I don't even have to block you anymore. I don't have to hide your name, your number. It does not haunt me. I am at peace with the end.
Now, I am hopeful. I have lots of thoughts about the next few weeks, months, years. I have made so many plans. So many little things I look forward to. So much love around me. So many friends. So many adventures. So much me. I leave you behind and press hopefully on. I feel like I can take a great big bite of the world, by myself. I feel the healing and the growth starting in my bones. This will be better. I will be better.
It's 5:38 AM, and there is a lot going on in my head but it's all okay.
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