Learning to Breathe Again

It’s been a month. 31 days of not talking to you. 31 days of grief.

People may see me happy and laughing, but deep down, I am still mourning what we had. I can’t call it a relationship because you were never officially mine. But if you asked, I was going to give you me. 

There were days I felt like I could conquer the world and never look back. I’d treat each memory with gratitude, thanking whichever higher being that we crossed paths.

But most days, I’m in bed. Sometimes I’d be tossing and turning while questioning why you chose to leave. I’ve never slept early since your last good night. 

Often I’d be crying over our conversations in the beginning: how you were so excited to try out my date ideas, how you were “g” to everything, how you’d have plans for us in the future, how I’m part of that future. I told you I wanted to try what you wanted too. One of them was going on long rides and trying new coffee shops, but you warned me that I couldn't drink caffeine because I palpitate badly.

I also get sad over the idea that I never got to share more. Or that I never got to ask you other questions because you wanted the stories to be told in person. You know what, we don't even have a photo together. How do I prove you were real? 

There were also days when I felt mad. I’d feel the heat in my heart as if it was physical. Maybe it was? I’d remember how you chose to pause it—or maybe end it—after a night of asking you to just be with me because I wasn’t okay. It was my dad’s death anniversary after all. I never asked for any resolutions to my problems. I just needed company so I could forget even just for an hour. 

I was also hurt a lot just a few weeks after we last talked, when I found out you unfollowed me on Instagram. It was as if I was stripped of any remaining value I had in your life. If I did have value in the first place. In my head, I thought, “he continues to hurt me even if we don’t talk anymore.”

Honestly, I’m publishing this because I wanted it to still somehow reach you. Because I miss you. I really do. Even if I feel deep in my heart that you probably didn’t need to move on as I was merely a distraction. 

But if it doesn’t land in your browser, it's enough that the universe heard me one more time, before I try again to get over you.