When you first crossed my path, I was convinced that we were meant to be and that you’d stay by my side for the rest of my life. I thought you were my soulmate and I was ready to do whatever it took to fight for our love. I was ready to do whatever it took to make things between us work.
But sadly, things didn’t work out.
Because apparently, although you tried to convince me of some things, you didn’t believe in us the way I did. Obviously, you didn’t think of me as the person you wanted to share your life with and you didn’t think our relationship was worth fighting for.
Apparently, everything you’d been telling me for years was just lies and now I don’t know if you ever loved me for real.
But the point is that I didn’t give up on us even when you did. Even when you left me, I still continued to lead these imaginary battles in my head.
I fought with you and most importantly—I fought with myself.
I simply refused to accept the fact that we were over and that we would never happen again. I refused to accept the fact that you left me for good as if I never existed and that you moved on with your life.
And most of all, I refused to accept the fact that you weren’t coming back. And consequently, I kept myself from moving on.
From the day you abandoned me and walked away from me, I redirected all my thoughts and energy into waiting for you to come back. I was scared to even take into consideration the possibility that this was really the end.
I thought you were just in some kind of emotional crisis and that you needed time to figure things out. I was positive you loved me and that you couldn’t live without me.
You just needed time to realize that and to come to your senses.
So I started spending my days waiting for you. When I come to think of it, my life was completely on hold because of it.
In a silly way, I was actually scared to move on because I didn’t know how you would react to any changes in my life and what I would do when you came back. I was afraid to meet other guys or to do any of the things I assumed you wouldn’t approve of, because I didn’t know how I would explain them to you.
And only now I understand how stupid all of this was for me. I was consumed by the hope that you’d come back while you were somewhere out there, living your life.
Although I thought that this hope that you’d come back was the only thing keeping me alive, the fact is that it was slowly killing me all along.
But I’ve finally taken the first step—I’ve realized and understood this. And I am finally learning to live with the fact that you won’t come back to me ever.
I am finally trying to accept the fact that I have to start living my life without you in it.
I am finally forcing myself not to expect your goodnight and good morning texts. I am accepting that you can’t be the first person I call whenever something good or bad happens to me.
I am accepting that your life is none of my business—that I shouldn’t worry about you or anything that is happening to you. That I can’t support you through life and that I can’t help you deal with your problems or issues anymore because you chose so. That I can’t affect your decisions and that your mistakes are now only yours.
I’ve stopped stalking you on social media, trying to find a song or a status update that might possibly be dedicated to me.
I’ve stopped analyzing your every look and move every time I accidentally see you and I’ve stopped going to places where I could meet you, hoping that seeing me once again will make you understand some things.
I am learning to fall asleep without you by my side and to wake up without hearing your voice.
I am learning not to jump every time my phone rings, expecting it to be you, and not to look around, expecting for you to show up in front of me, telling me that you’ve realized everything and asking for a second chance.
Because none of it will ever happen.
And because it’s about time I leave you in the past, where you belong.
