They said it so swiftly; so casually, as though it was the easiest venture in the world. They made it seem like I was feeling this breakup too intensely. How is it that I was finding it so hard to move on, they’d ask. Why couldn’t I just move on?
They said it so cruelly, but was I meant to use the remainder of my strength to get better or to fight them off? They thought they were helping but, really, they made it harder to deal. It’s like they took a look at my wounded soul and decided it made more sense to pour salt into it.
They said it with good intentions, but there was nothing good about the way they made me feel. They wanted to help; they wanted me to heal. But I didn’t need words to heal. I needed a shoulder to cry on. I needed hands to lift me up. I needed their warmth to thaw my now cold heart. But they didn’t understand.
They said it when I was strong, but somehow I wasn’t strong enough to hear those words. I wasn’t ready to let all of it go. I wanted to hope a little more, to love him a little longer. I wanted to wait for him to change his mind. That was my source of strength – knowing that he could come back.
They said it when I was weak, as though ‘move on’ could be a source of strength. But it wasn’t. It never is. I wish they would just give me a chance to go through the motions until I was ready.
They said it like I was hearing it for the first time, but I wasn’t. I’ve been saying it to myself for months now. Every time I’d cry, every time I’d see him, any and every time I’d feel pain, I’d say it: just move on.
Just: a word that defines fairness, but there was nothing fair about the way their words made me feel.