I’ve been told I feel too much, that I love too hard, that I jump in too fast and hold on too long. I sound like a train wreck, like a mess of feelings that no one could ever handle, but I don’t think that’s the truth. The truth is, I have a big heart and I’m really not ashamed of it.

The truth is, I’m not over him yet.
And maybe I don’t want to be.

See, the world will think I’m crazy for not moving on, for not diving back into another relationship, for not getting under another guy, for not involving myself in a string of long-winded, unlabeled meaningless attachments that are exactly that—meaningless.

But I’m not that kind of girl.

See, I’ve finally decided to embrace it. The feelings, the emotions, the heart that’s almost always bursting out of my chest.

I don’t think I’m weak for still caring about someone I used to love. I don’t think I’m crazy for not being over him.

There’s no specific time span for moving on. There’s not a set of rules I must follow, or checkpoints I must meet. I’m not a damn psycho, cyberstalking each of my exes’ every moves. I’m not holding onto pieces of them, reminding myself everyday of what I’ve lost. Realistically, I’m living my life, but when I’m reminded of someone from my past, I don’t push the thought out of my head.

I embrace it. I remember. I feel.

I’m not going to lie, especially not to myself. I’m not over it yet. I’m not over the sound of his laughter, the way he made me smile. I’m not over the little reminders of him in the pages of my notebooks, in the pictures on my bedroom walls, in the little town where we once fell in love.

But I don’t have to be over all that just yet.
And maybe I don’t want to be.

Maybe I want to allow myself the freedom of feeling, of acknowledging that love is real, and that love takes time to grow from, to heal from, to let go of.

There’s no point in pretending I don’t care, and I didn’t care. Because I did. Because I do. Because I probably always will.

Not in the sense of wanting him back, not in the sense of crying over him every single night, not in the sense of keeping myself stuck in one place, and stuck on missing him.

Just because I haven’t moved on doesn’t mean that I’m still sitting here, wishing for us to be in love.

It just means I’m not going to pretend, not going to jump into something I’m not ready for, not going to sleep with someone just because the world is pushing me to. That’s not me. It won’t ever be me.

I’ll feel. I’ll remember. I’ll think about that person and smile with our memories.

I’m not ready to move on, to forever put him behind me, to never think about him or wonder how he’s doing, even months and years along the road.

I don’t want him back.
But I don’t want to pretend he never existed.

Because love is real to me, and I feel it deeply.
And there’s no sense in lying, and pretending I don’t.