November 16, 2014

I remember waking up the day after you left. The taste of you was lingering on my lips. Why did we have to part with a final kiss? It’s almost unbearable to think that I won’t have that ever again.

Your words were succinct. Straight to the point, our relationship was ending.

I feel stronger when I’m writing these words down. This journal doesn’t hear my voice crumble at the thought of you. It doesn’t see how much of a mess the person staring back at me through the mirror is. It doesn’t hear my quiet sobs as I try to drive off to sleep. Most of all, it doesn’t understand how hard I am trying to let you go.

I suppose this is the hardest part, the days where the memories replay over and over again, in every corner of our old apartment. You thought you were being kind to let me stay in our apartment while you left, but in it was a haunting reminder of everything we were leaving behind. I can’t stay here anymore; I’m going to have to start apartment hunting in the morning. Maybe Chelsea will let me stay with her until I can find somewhere your ghost can’t follow me.

Chelsea has helped me out a lot the past few weeks. She came over with a pint of ice cream the first week and let me cry into her shoulder. I didn’t want her to see me like that, but once she walked in the door the flow of tears came out quicker than I could find a way to stop them. I know she has seen you since our breakup, you guys are pretty close friends after all, but she doesn’t bring you up. Doesn’t tell me how you are managing, without me. And I don’t ask. I am thankful for that.

Is this normal? Is this what loving someone leaves you with in the end, enough heartbreak to cripple you? I am certain I don’t ever want to go through this again. Not that I’ll ever find someone to fill the empty space you left. You were the one. I keep telling myself this over and over, and we manage to screw it up.

Maybe I wasn’t the one for you. You told me I was. I’m trying to think back to everything you every said to me, to see if I missed something. Did your voice falter when you said you loved me? Was there doubt in your eyes when you held me? Did I miss the signs?

No, I know you loved me. You, of all people, would never say that if you didn’t mean it. Then why did we fail? I have so many questions, and I’m still searching for their answers. Answers, I probably won’t find.

To be continued…