It was a grey spring day, the air damp with drizzling rain. My head overflowing with a deluge of thoughts that refused to be washed out by the rain nor drowned out by the construction noises near my apartment, I stopped by my favorite coffee shop to work a bit and found a cozy spot facing out the window. I don’t know what it was that made me glance up in that particular moment, but I did as he walked past across the street. Maybe he felt a certain energy too because he turned his head, our eyes found each other, and a flicker of recognition lit up through his face. He smiled (sadly, it seemed) and raised the hand holding an iced black coffee, and my eyes followed him as he walked out of sight.
But it was in that second that I finally understood my mess of feelings. I was no longer angry; I had moved past that. It didn’t mean I suddenly think it’s all okay or that I’ve forgotten what happened between us that had led to the last goodbye. It just means I’ve accepted what’s been done and forgave the situation, because it’s not something I could have changed. Even after unplugging and draining out most of the toxicity, I’m still left in a rippling puddle of bittersweet sadness, but I suppose that’s just life in general: you break, you heal, you grow. And with this realization, a certain heaviness lifted as I let go of the metaphorical balloon that was what once was and watched it float away.
Nothing heals overnight. Not the flu, not even the smallest paper cut. But this was the first step; this is the art of letting go, and this is how I shall miss him no more.