Why I’m Still Not Over You, And Probably Never Will Be
By Kate Michael
I should be forgetting all about you. I’ve had my time to wallow in my heartbreak, to cover myself with my blankets and cry into my pillow. You should be something of my past, something I had once and won’t again.
But I haven’t, and you aren’t.
Once sympathetic and caring, people in my life have gotten tired of my antics. They tire of seeing me trod downstairs in the morning, my eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying myself to sleep another night. They are exasperated, exhausting the same words of sympathy over and over again. I’m not sure if they even believe what they are saying anymore.
And I understand.
It’s been days, weeks, that they’ve had to put up with this, this shell of a person. Weeks that they’ve tiptoed around me, careful not to tip the balance, as if one wrong word could send me crashing to the floor. Weeks of conveying a nicer version of the message “get over it”. As if what I’m feeling is something I can snap out of, just like that. As if this heartbreak is like a pool, shallow enough to walk out of with a couple easy steps. As if it’s not an ocean, threatening to pull me out with the tide.
But who can blame them? They truly mean well, and it’s not their fault – if I was in their situation I would do the same thing. But I’m not. And what they don’t understand, what they couldn’t possibly understand, even though it’s not their fault that they can’t – is that I can’t bring myself to admit that I won’t see your face tomorrow. And the next day after that.
They can’t understand how every time I hear your name, my heart seems to beat a million miles an hour.
Heck, it practically grows wings and flies right out of my chest. How every time I hear that song, my nose prickles and my throat gets tight and I have to struggle to stop myself from sobbing. How when I see pictures of us together, I have to come back down to earth and remind myself that it might not be like that ever again.
Maybe after more time, I’m sure, things will be brighter. I’ll be able to think about you without breaking down in tears. I’ll be able to play that song, and actually sing along with the words. You’ll be a fond memory, something I can go back to and reminisce upon.