I think it’s for the better that we stopped talking, I really cannot do this anymore, and somewhere inside me I know you never looked at me with love in your eyes the way I look at the sea when everything feels like it’s falling apart, or the way the hills make me feel when I stand there and something in me wants to disappear into their beauty, because there’s a strange kind of beauty that makes you understand what it means to die for love, and maybe that’s when it all became too real for me. You say you have fondness for me, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that, I don’t know if it’s something you truly feel or something you say so I don’t feel the emptiness you left behind, because while I was crying over you, thinking about you, holding on to you in ways you never saw, you were somewhere else, thinking about someone else, and I’m not complaining.
You probably think I moved on, that I stopped calling because it didn’t matter, that I stopped texting because I forgot, but you don’t know that my mornings begin with your playlist and my nights slow down with it too, that you’ve changed the way I listen to music, even though you once called me a poser for liking popular songs, not knowing I never had the privilege to explore anything else before, and when I finally did I didn’t even know where to begin, so I just followed what was around me, and I’m not complaining. You didn’t notice how it felt when you stayed close to my friends the day we were supposed to meet, or how much it hurt when you left my house and I cried after you were gone, or how I waited just to hear my name when you were busy talking to someone else, and I’m not complaining.
And now every time I try to move on, to talk to someone new, it doesn’t work, because it’s not you, and somehow I keep searching for you in people who aren’t you, in conversations that don’t feel like you, and maybe for you it didn’t mean much, maybe it was just something passing, but for me it was everything, and I’m trying to heal, I really am, I think I’m getting there slowly, even if it doesn’t look like it, even if it still feels like I’m holding on, and it’s okay, I’ll be okay, I’m not complaining.