I’m Finally Moving On, And Other Lies I Tell Myself To Help Me Forget About You

When lying down to sleep at night, I don’t think about the times your eyes sparkled when you smiled. I don’t think about the slightly crooked lip from your smile and how it made you so uniquely you. I’ve stopped thinking about the way that my heart would skip a beat and I would forget how to breathe when I was face-to-face with you. I’ve almost forgotten the coarseness of your hair when I ran my fingers through it.

I don’t think about how tightly you would hug me, making me feel like I was the only person in the world. I don’t think about any of that anymore. I’m moving on—I’ve already moved on. It took a while, but I’ve moved on.

I don’t think about your laugh, how it would get more high pitched and draw looks from people around the room. The way you could draw attention from everyone in the room, but could also make them feel as though they were the only person there… I don’t think about it.

There’s someone else in my life. Yeah, his eyes don’t light up when he’s excited about something the way yours used to. He doesn’t shine when he sees me, and his hugs don’t feel as warm, as tight, as loving as yours did. But he’s here, and I care about him. My heart may not skip, but it flutters. Well, at least a little. There’s something there.

Nothing is official with him, but it’s a step; I’m moving on. I’ve already made it through the grieving process—I gave myself a few days to cry, watch Netflix, and sleep it off. Pushing through the process helped me to get over you. It was easier than I thought. Maybe if I could get through the grieving process so quickly, you and I really weren’t anything that important. Going through the process helped me stop thinking about missing you.

My stuffed animals may be immature, but they helped take your place. Maybe you were just a space filler—someone I had around to make sure I didn’t feel so alone. I don’t think about how late at night, we would watch movies until the sun started to rise. I can watch the movies by myself, I don’t need you there to talk about them with. They’re just as entertaining without you.

When I watch your favorite movie, I don’t think of you anymore. Okay, I think of you a little, but it’s not like I chose the movie specifically because you introduced me to it. You did introduce me to it, but I like it on my own. The cheesy acting and strange plotline was up my alley anyway. It wasn’t a huge deal that you weren’t there to talk about it again and again.

I can analyze it all on my own. I don’t miss bouncing ideas off of you. I can type them out as notes on my phone; I definitely don’t think about texting you. I have a lot of friends, I text them for advice yet. I may think about what you would say sometimes, but that’s not helping me move on. I’m moving on.

Maybe if I say “I’m moving on” enough, it’ll become the truth. I have plenty of people to talk to, there are many people I can spend time with. It doesn’t need to be you. Spending time thinking of you doesn’t hurt anymore. The ache in my chest and the nausea building in my stomach, the lump in my throat? They don’t have anything to do with you.

I’m moving on, I’m moving on, I’m moving on. Soon you’ll just be nothing but a silly memory. It’ll be a story to tell. How many times I need to say that to myself to get through the day doesn’t matter. I know it’s the truth. I’m actually moving on.

Maybe if I stop fighting it… I’m not moving on yet, I’m not ready to. It’s okay that I haven’t yet. It hurts when I think of you, but I’m not ready to move on. When I do move on, it’ll be on my own time. Truthfully, I’ll never forget about you. I may lie to myself to say I will, but I don’t want to forget you. Even when I do move on, I won’t forget you, and I’m now accepting that it’s okay to remember you—but not right now.