Everyone is always shocked when I say we aren’t talking anymore, they ask me how I can go without speaking to you. How we haven’t exchanged a single form of contact since the day you left. How I have the strength to resist sending that drunk text message, how I don’t check your social media pages to find out what you’re doing, or how I can truly be at peace without knowing anything.
And the answer is simple: I don’t want to know.
They assume it’s out of bitterness, resentfulness or that I don’t care. The truth is quite the opposite. It’s out of respect for myself, to keep myself protected. I don’t want to know how you’re doing, I don’t want to know if you miss me, or if you don’t. I’ve never known the you that existed outside of us.
And I don’t want to know him.
Of course I still think about you, every single day. Some days are better than others. Some days you’ll pass through my mind like a light breeze, and other days you are a storm of memories and emotions.
Sometimes I try to imagine us having a conversation now. Trying to introduce the new versions of ourselves. Struggling to connect, treading lightly into our accumulation of unspoken words.
But I don’t want that.
It’s easier to process this without being interrupted. Without having to analyze how it’s effecting you, without having to compare my pain to yours and without having to meet the you outside of us.
The truth is, the volume of our silence is louder than our words ever could be right now. You are you and I am me, and our worlds are apart now. Our silence is the sound of our confusion, our pain, our liberation, our care, and our love. We may never get the chance to hear each other again.
But I do want that.