I sometimes wish I possessed the supernatural ability to go back in time. To a time that things appeared somewhat normal. To the one of many times that we spent laughing at our endearing traits while coincidentally drinking too much in my apartment. To the time when we took our scrabble competition too seriously secretly plotting our win until we were ever so impressed with the others’ extensive knowledge in language. I’ll admit, you are quite the linguist. I’d like to go back to the time that you tucked me into bed when I was embarrassingly exhausted enough to fall asleep on the floor. Then I question why I would want to go back in time to when things were seemingly perfect while in this moment, my world was figuratively falling to pieces.
How are you ok? How are you not trying to show up on my doorstep unexpectedly like a romanticized cliché? Why are you not trying to win me back? Why aren’t you fighting to stay in my life?
Maybe I wasn’t worth fighting for.
Not to you. As much as my hearts aches in this very moment, I long for you to make me feel better. How I wish you were holding me in bed. How your body outlines mine perfectly when in the assumed spooning position. How I would prefer to be falling asleep on your shoulder before bursting into tears at the ending of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. “He left because he knew he needed to”, I said in an attempt to defend my sudden outbreak of sadness. I realize that you also had to. That I needed you to walk away from what we were, whatever that was. I deserve better, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make me not want to care about you. Because I do. I tend to care too much.
Regardless of what “they” say, I still spill tears for you even if I know you aren’t worth it anymore. Even if I know that I shouldn’t. I need to be sad in this moment. I need to feel all the things that I’m feeling, really feel them. It’s how I know that I was able to be vulnerable which is the most terrifying thing to experience. Terrifying as it is, it’s mind-blowingly surreal in the best way possible. Heartache sucks; there is no sugarcoating it. I forgot how bad it hurts to get your heart broken. The feeling of wanting to die because you feel like you can’t handle the amount of pain that is collapsing on your chest like a ton of cement dropped from the second story of a building. You scream until nothing but air comes out. You go into a state of panic so terrifying that there is nothing you can do but gasp for air as if you’re submerged in the depths of the ocean. You learn what it feels like to drown above water.
For a brief moment, you believe you have it under control. You think, “you can do this.” Then all at once the pain comes flooding back as all hell decides to break loose. The tears fall uncontrollably and the gasps for air become more urgent. “Your lungs need air to breathe, you idiot.” Then you think breathing might be overrated. You don’t want to feel. You don’t want to do anything that requires being conscious. As I sit in isolation with soaking wet cheeks, I know that one day this will only be a memory. But for now, I will embrace the feelings as they come. I will be sad.
I will cry.
I will be ok.