You’re Too Late


There’s this moment after a break up, one that I’m sure has been encouraged by movies and TV.

You know the one I’m talking about.

It’s that moment. When the dumpee comes out on top. They’re the hottest they’ve ever been, land that dream job, and meet someone even more wonderful than the fool who dumped them.

At the core, it’s about vindication. It’s the revenge of success, of knowing someone who hurt you realized they screwed up and now must live with that nauseating realization.

When someone breaks our heart, we want that moment. Whether we’re willing to admit to it or not.

You bet your ass I wanted that moment after you walked away.

When you left, I was a shell longer than I like admitting. You blindsided me. I fell for your charms and wit and, maybe worst of all, wholeheartedly believed the things you said to me. I was rooting for you, for us, for the worlds we were going to conquer together. We were going to be an unstoppable team. I championed your growth and I trusted that you valued mine.

And then, you did your world famous vanishing act.

In retrospect, I should have paid attention to your track record. Sure, maybe I was different. But you were still the same. It’s weird how easy it is to forget something like that when someone says all the right words.

I mourned you. I wasn’t motivated to go to the gym more or chase my dreams even harder. I was just sad. I missed you. I cried over what was and what could have been. I was the break up stereotype, sobbing into my pillow.

But time took over. You stopped being the first thought on my mind. I was able to look back at things without painful nostalgia. And without my rose colored glasses, I saw things I should have noticed before. I wasn’t mourning you. I was realizing something pretty powerful.

I was always better off without you. I just didn’t know it then.

I stopped thinking about “the moment.” I stopped caring if you saw that photo on my Instagram in the skin tight dress. I stopped fantasizing about you texting.

I just stopped.

A funny thing happens when someone stops putting all that desperate energy into the universe: the other person somehow feels it.

It’s too late to want me back now.

The moment doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t matter if you miss me, the sex, or are just lonely. You’re too late.

You waited too long and now I see you for what you are. And that’s someone who never deserved me. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

About the author

Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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