11 Things You Understand When You're Hurting Like Hell But Trying To Hide It

It’s Been 800 Days Without You

It’s been over 800 days without your good morning texts. I’ve spent over 17,000 hours without your touch. I’ve gone every minute thinking about you. I’ve yearned for your attention. I’ve written texts and deleted them. I’ve been unfair to you and myself.

I know loving you is wrong. I’m the gas to your fire. I’m the Jack in your Coke. I’m the other half of you. Days go by and I hate you. Days go by and I’m on the verge of hopping on a plane to see you. It’s like my brain and heart are fighting about what’s right and what’s wrong.

If only things were back to normal. If we could forget about the hurt, the pain, the heartbreak. If we could go back to us laying in bed, watching our favorite shows. Eating our favorite foods and talking about our future.

It’s been over 800 days without loving another human. It’s been over 800 days of learning to love myself. Learning how to consume my mind with thoughts that aren’t you. With thoughts that make me happy, make me feel whole, make me feel sane. I’ve wondered how you are. How work is going. If you are at our favorite bar, dancing to the songs we danced to together. If you’re doing things with another person that isn’t me. Sharing the same conversations we had. Laughing at the same jokes we once laughed at.

Time really is the ultimate healer. It’s like your heart feels healthy but some days gets a small paper cut that exposes the hurt that you worked so hard to heal and forget. You move through it. You add layers to your scars, knowing that they won’t open again.

I want you to know that I think about you, more than you know. Life passes on and I always wonder “what if”. What if we did it right. What if you are the one. What if we tried harder. Was our love supposed to be stronger than it was?

Here’s to the next 800 days without you. Here’s to the random texts we’ll send each other. Here’s to the memories that will follow me until the end. Here’s to imaging what if and painting this picture that will never come to fruition.

Here’s to the next 800 days. TC mark

About the author
A 20-something learning that good things do come to an end.
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