Moving On Is Easier Said Than Done

image - Flickr / Lulu Lovering
image – Flickr / Lulu Lovering

I’ve said it a million times. I don’t love him anymore. But saying it is so much different from feeling it.

Two years has passed since we ended our romantic rendezvous. Two years and still I haven’t stopped counting the days that drift by. Two years and still I miss you.

I thought I was okay. I should be okay, but seeing you with someone else, I can’t help the pang of hurt that hits my heart each time. I can’t help but reminisce the times when you used to look at me like I was the most precious gem you’ve held, the times when you touch the curve on my back to reassure that you were by my side, and the times when you held me close until all my senses were at your mercy. We were so good together. You were and still remain to be the one of the few people in my life I hold dearly. We connect in ways I don’t with others. You can predict my train of thoughts, speak the words I cannot form, act the moves I cannot express. Just like how Mr. Rochester puts it, it’s like there’s an invisible string connected between our ribs, binding us together, physically and emotionally, inseparable, and if there were miles of distance that will separate us, that string may snap and I will end up bleeding internally until I perish. That’s how strong I felt our relationship was.

What went wrong? Why did we stop?

We agreed that it was better to be friends. For reasons I still can’t fathom, I allowed our relationship to turn platonic. The spark in your eyes every time you gaze at me was suddenly extinguished. The hitchhike of your breath that I cause whenever I touch your cheek was gone. The urge of you to kiss me, to hold me, to love me suddenly didn’t matter. The distance between us grew and grew and I felt the string stretching to the point of breaking. But it didn’t break. You stayed. There were times when I wished you should have left because it was torturing me inside to see you moving on. But each time I try to speak those words, I couldn’t do it. I was afraid I’d bleed inside and then I’d slowly and painfully succumb into an abyss of darkness. You have me trapped under your spell.

You have turned into my best friend. We see each other often. You now have a girlfriend. I hate the girl. You know that because I tell it to you every time we meet. You say you’re happy but I can’t see it. You’re not happy with her. I know you better than anyone, maybe even better than yourself. And I’m telling you that you’re not happy.

I don’t want to be desperate. I don’t want to be hopeful when I catch you staring at me and feel the spark that used to burn me two years ago. Or the fact that we still call each other by our nicknames. Or that you act all alpha possessive when you catch someone making a move on me. I don’t want to hold onto a nonexistent promise that you will one day wake up and realize I am the only one who can make you happy. I want to be free from your grasp, but how can I do it when I see you unhappy with your new girlfriend. It’s just physically impossible to walk away from that. I need to be sure that you will be alright first.

Where is strength when I need it? Where is dignity when I seek it? Where is love when I ask for it? Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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