I’m not over you.
I’m not over lazy weekends with you, not over the adventures I had with you, not over the support you gave me. I’m not over all the good you’ve done me and the good times we’ve had together. I can’t bear that we will never have that together again, and I absolutely cannot remember how much you cried, how much it hurt to see those eyes I love fill with so many tears, without beginning to cry again myself.
I’m fixing the pieces of my life that I’ve subconsciously deliberately ruined, and perhaps you were one of them. Perhaps I let you go unduly, perhaps I will live to regret the choice I made to work on our relationship as friends rather than lovers. Perhaps I will come to see that it was, in fact, a choice I made gradually as we started to relate to one another differently rather than a slow, dawning realisation that I wasn’t as happy with you as I had been, that our relationship was declining. Perhaps I will regret severing it so early to give us a chance to be friends. I don’t know. I hope I won’t, and I hope we can be. I don’t want to detangle my life entirely from yours.
But is this what being healthy feels like? A fog has lifted temporarily from my brain and I’m voluntarily cleaning out the cobwebs in my life – literally AND metaphorically: there’s a feather duster by my bed and yesterday I did all eleven items on my to-do list. I don’t know if it’s because I have been spending so much time alone, or reaching out to more friends than normal, or just consciously building a new routine. Maybe I was stewing or stagnating before. I hate that this is without you. I miss how comfortable we were together and how omnipresent you were for the minutiae of my life, and I don’t think I will get over that any time soon.
For now, I am at peace – but I will always love you, and I hope when I see you (soon) that I can continue to piece things together.
I hope your friends are looking after you like I’ve asked them to and that you’re doing OK.