This Is How You’ll Fall Out Of Love With Them

In the morning, when you wake up and don’t think of them until well into your afternoon. Know that you’re only remembering them because you realize you forgot them, not unlike the way you leave your coffee thermos on the kitchen counter on your way to work and don’t notice until you’re walking into the office. Visiting their memory became part of your routine. And just like a cigarette, they’re a hell of a vice to break.

***

See someone who looks like them at the bar and suddenly miss when they clutched your self-worth in their hands, but know deep down that this is merely a symptom of nostalgia and that you don’t want them. You don’t, you don’t, you don’t. Not anymore.

Because you know better now. You understand that to give someone the keys to your value is to have them hold it hostage, and there is nothing romantic about that. It’s merely self-destruction.

***

Understand it’s for the best. Still crave the worst every now and then anyway.

***

Try to recall what you saw in them. Close your eyes and squint into your mind’s eye to try to view them in that old, rose-colored hue but instead see nothing but shades of gray.

***

Delete their number. But save the text thread and photos, at least for now.

***

Wonder how someone you once believed in so strongly suddenly feels more like a ghost story than a prayer. A haunted house more than a home. A person more than a savior.

Come to terms with the fact people are just people, and you can’t love someone into being who you need.

***

Watch their birthday pass and don’t say a word. Finally delete your string of messages.

Still keep the photos.

***

Attempt to resurrect the butterflies but realize they’re already long departed. Clear the cobwebs off your heartstrings but notice the melody no longer sounds the same. Dig and dig and dig into that grave of what-once-was until your hands become raw. And as you sort through the gravel, realize you’re not entirely sure what you are even bleeding for; who you are even being torn apart for.

When you get to the bottom, find nothing at all. Consider this to be your answer.


About the author

Molly Burford

Writer. Editor. Hufflepuff. Dog person.