My alarm rings and my eyes pop open, interrupting the dream I had about him. Immediately I grab my journal to jot it down before it evicts my mind forever. I lay in bed a few minutes longer, staring at the ceiling as I wonder how it’s fair that even when I’m sleeping, the one time of day I can’t consciously think of him, he is still here.
I put my music on shuffle as I walk to class. The song I showed him on our first date plays. My heart begins to ache. I’m momentarily transported to that moment, and although I’m well aware I’m only torturing myself, I can’t bring myself to change the song. I live vicariously through my old memories. They’re all I have left of him.
I’m sit in the library to do work. I open Pages and twenty eight documents flood my screen. Too often I’ll start writing something, question the direction it’s heading so I’ll take a break, and ultimately think of a new topic and write something else. I click through the half-written documents. They’re all about him. The sentences end abruptly, just the way our relationship did. I attempt to read my old words, but it’s too painful. I know I won’t finish writing any of these documents. But I can’t bring myself to delete them.
I walk home and pass a couple laughing and holding hands. My heart aches yet again. I finally make it to my room and survey the clothes sprawled over the floor. Instantly I remember when he and I did laundry together. Why does every little thing remind me of him????? My eyes well up in frustration, and my vision blurs as the tears threaten to pool over. I glance toward the window and focus on a raindrop sliding down, just as a teardrop leaks out of my eye and slides down my face. I don’t wipe it away. I can’t help noticing how poetic it is that the droplets fall in harmony. I need to write this down.
I’ve finished writing, but as usual, I proofread five times. Did I project the message clearly and concisely? Is this something I feel comfortable with on the internet? I linger on the last question, but only for a second. Why should I care if he sees it?. I’m sure he already knows how I feel. But deep down, I know he probably won’t even read it.
My best friend calls me to FaceTime. Our daily vent session and check in. We’re deep thinkers and each of our conversations somehow lead to an epiphany. Today, we contemplate the nature of happiness. “You should write about that!” she exclaims. “Yeah,” I respond halfheartedly. “I’ll definitely take it into consideration.” We say our goodbyes and then once again I’m alone in my head.
I lay in bed wishing I could fall asleep already. My body is tired but my mind says otherwise. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it’s always this time that my mind is inundated with thoughts of him— our past, how and why we ended up like this, and if he lays in bed with me on his mind too. But slowly the volume of my conscience lowers until it finally hits silent. The world drops dead. At last, I am asleep, I am liberated from my thoughts. I am numb… yet I am not.