How many times must I get over you?
Every time I think I’m making progress, the slightest hint of your existence sends my imagination running wild, my thoughts slipping back into wishful fantasies that I know will never become true. By now, even my heart sneers at me for how pathetic the whole thing is. Move on, move on, move on. That’s all I want to do.
But there’s that little voice in the back of my head that whispers I will never meet anyone like you.
You’re on my mind more than you should be. In about a month, it will be a whole year since we first met. In a couple more, it will be a whole year since the last time we spoke. I won’t pretend I don’t loathe myself for how difficult it’s been, forgetting that you exist. Whenever I’m beginning to get over you, it’s like an alarm bell sounds across the universe and something happens to remind me of you.
I’m stronger than this, that’s what I want to tell myself. I moved on from a 5 year relationship within a month – a silly boy that I never dated should be easy. But my brain doesn’t want to move on. I wish I’d known what I was getting into before we started our “thing.” I wish someone had warned me that even though I’d easily climbed out of my long-term relationship, I was about to trip into the bottomless pit that would be falling for you.
I’m not as strong as I thought, after all. I suppose it isn’t time that heals you. Only you heal you. And boy, I’m standing in the way of a lot of my own healing.
We’re an impossible story. I already know that. I don’t need anyone to tell me that. We were doomed from the start, and it hurts to know that I’m not on your mind half as much as you’ve been on mine. It hurts to think that maybe you didn’t feel that spark, and were just stringing me along for the ride. It hurts to know that a lot of that was my fault for shutting you out.
Saying that I love you is a lie. But saying I don’t miss you and don’t regret the way I treated you would be an even bigger one.
How many more times will I move on? When will be the last?