I think everybody will have that one kind of love: the kind of love where the moving on process lasts longer than the actual relationship does. People will judge you for it, people will say you’re overreacting, but don’t let them dismiss what you’re feeling or ridicule you for it. You’re hurting because it mattered. You’re hurting because you’re grieving the loss of something that seemed quite promising. You’re hurting because you allowed yourself to hope. You’re hurting because when he came into your life, you caught yourself saying “finally” with a sigh and a silly smile on your face.
When you both walked into each other’s lives, unexpectedly and unintentionally, you instantly clicked. You listened to the same music and even shared your personal stash of “secret” artists to each other. Your conversation went on and on and on and on and on and did I say on and on? When you looked at them, you wondered “Where have you been all this time, silly?” When they held your hand, it gave you that high school-crush-rush. It was magic and you knew it. You both knew it.
But for some reason, the magic didn’t last as long as you wished it would. Whatever “rush” you had ended in an abrupt and merciless manner — the kind that you didn’t see coming. You were just driving one day and you looked at them for a split second and then boom — you crashed into a wall that you never even knew was there. You slowly regain consciousness as you open your eyes. You quickly panic after realizing that you had hit a will and before you could check them lest they were hurt, you find they aren’t there. You panic some more. You walk out of the car and check the immediate vicinity of the crash site but you don’t see them. No blood stains on the chair. No footsteps from their side of the car. No sign that they were ever there. No nothing. Which confuses you, of course.
You rub that part of your head that starts throbbing as you search your mind for signs that they were actually there with you in the car before the crash. “Why was I driving anyway?” you ask yourself. But nothing seems to make sense right now and the universe could not offer any rational explanation to what happened. You start to believe that they were just a fiction of your imagination. But you fight it. “No” you say “They were real. We were real. They were right there.” Or were they? Where are they, then?
You walk around one more time in the hopes of finding them, finding traces of them, but to no avail.
You look at your car and it’s totally trashed. Your windshield is shattered. Your hood is deformed. You headlights have fallen. You’re thinking how you could’ve survived the crash with only minor bruises. But you did.
It has been months since the crash and that part of your head still throbs whenever you think about it. To this day, you’re still trying to make sense of it all. You’re still trying to search your brain for possible signs which would have led to the crash. You’re still trying to pinpoint what went wrong. What did go wrong? Your brakes weren’t faulty and everything was working fine.
And that’s why it still hurts.
It hurts because you didn’t see it coming. It hurts because it was sudden. It hurts because you thought you were stronger, better than that. It hurts because it was magical — or so you thought it was.
So don’t be so hard on yourself if you’re still not over what happened. Don’t think yourself stupid just because you’re still sad that it’s gone. It hurts because it mattered. It hurts because it was promising. But remember that nothing is ever too broken to be fixed, not even your heart.