Instead of chasing him, put on Modest Mouse and think about all the ways you’ve let yourself down lately. Breathe along to the rhythm of “The World At Large” as you promise yourself for the 15th time that you’re finally done getting wrapped up in someone who doesn’t want you, and know you mean it this time. Feel free and heavy all at once.
Apologize to him, to yourself, to the wind. Have dreams where you cannot speak. Let yesterday stay where it is, lean into tomorrow, and breathe. Tiptoe on the edge of total acceptance and total denial and realize that maybe this is what it means to let go.
Realize that the further you push your feelings down, the deeper they become planted in your veins. Understand this very well because that is what has happened here. Finally allow all of those emotions and wishes and disappointments to grow. Feel everything you’ve sent away, and feel it deeply.
Recover on your own. Reclaim your pride. Come home to yourself. Miss him but don’t see him. Know you still love him but do not chase him. Be too proud to delete his number but continue to draft texts you’ll never send.
Slowly break free from the pain and then run back to it, but never to him.
Not anymore.
Remember kissing him like it was the last time and realize that it was. Think back to the times you spent together and watch all of the moments fade into something you no longer relate to, something that looks different, harder. Not as beautiful. Something that actually resembles reality rather than what you wish it was.
Swear to yourself you’ll do better, and then do so. Stop reaching out for hands that will only hold you in the middle of the night. Stop pretending that you don’t feel what it is you do. Honor it.
Watch documentaries on minimalism and Joan Didion and think about all the ways you’re going to change your life, how you’re going to design one without him in it. Read The Year Of Magical Thinking and cry every 15 pages.
Take three ibuprofen after a late night at the bar with your friends. Hope it kicks in fast. Roll over to the side of the couch where you slept last night and check your phone. 8:03 a.m. Groan. Get up, find your glasses, and tiptoe out of your best friend’s loft in Detroit. Drive home with only the company of falling snow and the voices singing from your speakers.
Feel okay. 
