We broke up.

I mean I guess we broke up. We weren’t even dating. We were together for almost eight months but ended things. And honestly, that shit hurt more than a “boyfriend-girlfriend” break up.

At first, he and I were becoming very distance. Maybe we were both avoiding the elephant in the room, or maybe we were both afraid of letting go of something that is so special and cherished. No, let me rephrase. Distant is the wrong word. I was still with him every day and everything felt so right, but something felt lost. How could his body be so close, yet his heart so far away?

Then.

I began to feel empty. I knew. I felt. A storm on the horizon. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something awful was about to happen. Something awful, yet inevitable. And I felt so helpless. As much as I wanted to scream “I love you” over and over and over again, something stopped me. He knows how much I love him. Me restating this meaningful statement of passion would only add mere minutes to the clock. And I didn’t want to add minutes, I wanted to add a lifetime. I still want to add a lifetime. Love is something that never fades away. It is an intangible feeling of foreverness.

In this state of helplessness, I just thought to myself repeatedly- why can’t love keep us together? Outside voices and circumstances took their toll, but I always believed that despite these forces, we would be together forever as cliche as that sounds.

And as my feeling of emptiness continue to linger, my brain spiraled out of control. I began to question everyone and everything. I wanted answers. I needed answers. As I sat across from him at a glass table. I focused on the reflective lighting on the marble floor. I directed my attention to anything but his eyes. Though my mind wanted to interrogate him, part of me wanted to accept this heartbreak. I thought that if I accepted the pain and the trauma, I would gradually find peace.

I was wrong. There is no peace in pain. There is no fucking peace in pain.

If I found my answers. I would still be broken. So I sat in silence. I felt temporary paralyzed.

What was I supposed to say? I could say that I will always love you. I could say that I don’t want this to happen. I could say that I need you. I need you to live and breath. I need you to be happy and I need you by my side.

But, would this change anything?

I wasn’t sure.

I am a firm believer that if you love someone you should let them go. If you love someone you let them free, you let them find who they are. You let them find self-love and discover their role in this crazy world.

If he is not ready to be with you. You let him be free until he is ready. I believe with everything inside of me that, no matter what- you will always find your way back to him. It hurts. It will forever hurt. A part of you will always be broken.

That is love.

I will forever put your happiness first. I will forever feel broken while you find yourself. And I will struggle. I will fall. But, these obstacles do not define my strength.

I was still sitting in silence, staring at the marble floor.

Maybe it was the past. Maybe it was the future. Or maybe it was the present.

Maybe I needed to miss you. Maybe I needed to appreciate you in a way I never did before. Or maybe I needed you to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe this would be the biggest mistake of our lives.

Or maybe this is all just apart of the story.

This isn’t your typical girlfriend-boyfriend breakup. So. How do you. How do I. Continue to go throughout the day pretending like life is normal?

I bet you thought this article was going to end on a positive note telling you all life will get better and life will go on. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Plot twist: the pain will never fade.

You never accept this. You will continue to question everything. You will blame yourself.

There is no specific coping process. There is nothing you can do to ease the pain.

The best advice I can give you right now: pour yourself a glass of wine. You’re going to need it.

Take the bottle and run.