My head hurts and my body aches. But the most painful thing of all has been the breaking of my heart—a pain so strong that I feel it with every breath, so raw like it’s day one again.
It’s three weeks today. 21 days. 504 hours. 30,240 minutes, and I’ve felt every single one.
Rewind to five weeks ago and I honestly felt like the luckiest girl alive. We had an amazing Saturday night, good food, good wine, and the best company. That was the night I told you I loved you. I hadn’t expected to say it after five (and a half) months of dating, but it’s something I had known for a long time.
That day was followed by a dodgy hangover, but our walk through the woods was magical. Hand in hand, sipping on our hot drinks, you taking my empty cup and once again reaching for my hand, even telling me that you’d hold my hair if the effects of the hangover got too much for me. You were a dream. You were my dream.
I loved hearing your stories. How you bit your dentist’s finger, which still makes me laugh. How you spent your Christmases, how you got into your career—I wanted to find out everything I could about you. I thought we had so much time left together to do that and create our own stories.
But it wasn’t meant to be.
Your phone call shook me to the core. It was so unexpected. It was the day before you were due to meet my family, which I was so excited about because I knew they would love you just as much as I did.
That day, my heart broke into tiny little pieces, and I’m now left wondering how it will ever be whole again.
But here I am. Three weeks later and I can’t continue to be immersed in my own sadness anymore, unable to think or talk about anything else. I need to be the change I want to see, and so I’m starting my journey of getting over you.
It’s going to be one of the toughest journeys I’ve ever had to take and one I wish I didn’t have to. I’ll get there in the end, but I feel there will always be a part of me that will never get over you, and there’s a hole that will never be filled by another.
So, I’ll delete your number. I’ll delete the messages and our photos. I’ll make plans that don’t involve you and keep myself busy so I’m not thinking about you, but it’s going to be harder deleting the memories.
As the saying goes, though, time is a healer. As I heal, I hope you do too, and if fate will allow it, we’ll get to meet again soon.
Another day closer.