he’s gone. He’s not coming back. He is now a wind passing to your window, forcing you to remember the smell of his breath and the warmth of his palm and the faithlessnes of his lips pressing towards yours. You will remember the feeling of touching his scalp as you scratch his thin hair until he sleeps, you will remember him in every knock on the door, in every missed calls from an unknown number, in every flickering lights and broken sink that he used to fix. You will remember him in every single person with the same name as him. You will remember him until you don’t.
your heart is an empty auditorium during business hours where everyone’s too busy to see a play. It’s hollow and you will be frightened by its silence, but as it heals, the empty will become a hallway full of people and it will foster until the empty turned into full house, until the empty turned into a parade where broken parts march back towards the void, and fill the spaces.
the question that you would want to ask him if at any moment you see him again is the same, exact question you keep asking yourself: why? Why did you leave? Why did your presence agree on making each day a blizzard of laughter and sadness hitting one field at once? Why did you make me happy to begin with? Why did I spend so much time wondering about a house with a living room that has more books than couch? And on Sunday evenings, we slow dance humming Radiohead song. Why am I wanting a child named after your late grandfather, a poem about how beautiful you smile and your eyes after you cry? Why am I still waiting?
he left a trail of memories that leads to your longing, go ahead and reroute. Go to a place he hates going. Buy yourself flowers, book yourself table for two and dine alone. Barcelona, Seattle, Croatia, he dreamt of these places, be there before him. Drink your coffee at 6 instead of 8 because you used to drink it with him during that time. Help yourself get over a routine that cost you self-medication and bathroom floor breakdowns.
stop crying when you’re done, not when people or a quote you found online or your horoscope told you so. Your heart is carrying a package without recipient. Its heavy and you don’t know where to go. Your tears are his promises that you keep on hearing every time a song lyrics reminds you of his presence, every time you hear his voice calling your name in a crowd. You are not weak just because you cry over someone who left. You are allowed to cry over the person who hurt you. Some people will tell you to get over it by being strong, some will tell you to sleep and everything’s going to be okay when you wake up. But, you cannot even sleep and you are not strong— not yet. Convincing yourself that things will go back to normal right after someone discontinued his subscription, leaving you bankrupt because of that unrenewed contract, is not strength. Pain should not empower and make you a strong person in an instant, no. Pain should make you feel something. Healing is not a race to win. Take your time.
let go. It all starts here.