If Moving On Were Simple I Wouldn’t Still Miss You

Vinh Pham

I unintentionally left my phone today in the car after we went to the grocery store, but it was not the first time. It usually happens when I go to school. I would accidentally leave it at home. Maybe it is not an unusual thing for someone who has not been talking to anyone lately – asking how their day went, how they are, if anything out of the ordinary happened.

It has been like this since you left – all I have is myself.

Does ice cream really solve problems? Because if it does, I would get a scoop for every time I remember you — your smile, your laugh, your stare… I still miss you.

I always thought it would be quick, I mean moving on, but I guess it is harder than I thought it would be. I would sometimes see something significant that would take me to memory lane instantly, and it is not always a fun trip — I would later ask myself the questions I have asked before, the “What If’s.” I always hoped I have answers, just so I could stop killing myself every time. Playing scenarios in my head is a suicide; I would always play “What Would You Say” every time I would think of us.

You remained being my standard. I would always compare every single guy next to you, what he should do according to what you would do — and he would always fail. You knew me best — how I like things, how I am when I am acting a certain way, what my eyes were saying when I look at you. You knew when I was not okay; you knew when I did not need an advice, but a companion. I miss you being there for me — I miss how you knew what I needed before I ever do.

I am still waiting for the miracle that one day I can finally say goodbye. To you, our memories, our dreams, and us. The day when I can finally be fair to myself.

I know you are doing better now, doing what you have always wanted to do, going to places we once dreamt to go. I am doing okay, or at least that’s what I posture myself in front of others, just to mask the reality. There is a beast roaring and growling inside of me, hungry for the attention, and feelings it was once full of.

I crave for strong emotions, maybe the sole reason why I crave for trouble and thrill. I intentionally seek for things that I know would hurt me just so I could feel I am alive. And you gave me those, not just the pain, but joy and everything in between, too. You became my tree of emotions, I have felt everything just right because of you.

I do not need that much to feel happy, and you already knew that, but you still went beyond every single time. In the end, I only wanted you to stay, the only thing you did not give, and chose to do the opposite.

You taught me to look at things on the brighter side, you told me that there is always something good that would come out of something that seemed odd. I kept on waiting for the good thing that would come out from what happened… and am still waiting.

One thing I am happy about now is how you became genuinely in bliss with your life, you had your purpose in life when you chose to leave. I thought what happened after is bigger than the both of us. I found the good thing that came after on your side, the good thing on your part of the deal.

I stopped destroying myself a long time ago, I stopped being my own poison. But I would still ask the stars to give me the answers that I know I could never accept.

I somehow feel that fate and destiny cheated on me — I always thought they would work things out and fix your path right back to me. I prayed every single night to receive a message from you the next morning, saying how much you love me and how you wanted to work us out… but it never happened, for when you left, you left for good. You left me holding the door open for you, waiting for no one.

If moving on is as simple as driving down to an ice cream shop, I wouldn’t be missing you desperately. If accepting answers is as simple as picking a flavor or two, I wouldn’t still be crying myself to sleep. If letting go means as simple as I love you, I probably have loved you so much, more than I am ever capable of. TC mark

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