how to run from healing and call it freedom / for the girls who never learn to let go
even though he’s not here he exists in my memories. sometimes i try pulling them from inside my mind as though im choosing which dvd to play. too often, the playback is fuzzy and i can’t remember exactly what happens. with that comes the guilt. the early moments were so magical, yet they slip so easily through the clumsy fingers of my memory. later i learned to take pictures in my mind with the mantra remember this moment so I could call on it later. i have a few of these – laying on his couch with the tv on in the background, the unspoken i love yous hanging in the balance. walking through our bustling city streets with lavender haze in my chest; even back then I could feel the love catching fire inside my heart. now these sacred memories are stained. red wine on a silk dress. never the same. still, like a broken record, i replay our final moments, how my chest hurt so bad i thought it might burst. how he refused to hug me. as though now he was finished with me, he didn’t even want to touch me. my chest still burns when i think about that night he told me to never come back. i will never come back here. the promise i made to myself swirled inside my mouth but the tears kept running, and i ran too, out the door. i know how the movie goes. and yet i keep watching. my favourite part of the day is where im alone and i can think about him freely. i read old emails obsessively, comb through messages; i love you im sorry. i imagine different scenarios where he tries to contact me, attempting to apologise for making the wrong choice. i anticipate flowers on my doorstep when my birthday rolls around each year. its like a fantasy – the possibility sends a thrill down my spine. im pretty sure i dont want to see him again. but im not ready to move on. im in limbo and subjecting myself to experience an emotional hurt locker. i think i could be addicted. i still dont have the desire to entertain any other guys, and its been long enough. when i do mess around on dating apps and his profile comes up, the thought of getting involved with any other man (no matter how shallow the connection) makes me feel physically ill. ive lost my appetite for anyone except him. its no longer enough to even pretend with another broody guy. holding onto him is like partially filling the hole he left inside me. and so the cycle repeats. until one day he does actually come back (of course you know i cant take him back). or maybe he never will. then ill wind up on a grippy sock vacation because im pretty sure this is sending me batshit crazy. but moving on is hard. i hate myself in my weakest moments. and i push other people in a space where they dont fit. its emotional its messy its difficult. more than the fear of rejection, i fear the pain of acceptance. accepting that its finally over. and how do you know when you have finished healing? is it when they no longer haunt your dreams? when the sound of their name doesnt catch your breath? i rewind and press play so much it’s like a broken record – his raised voice, the slam of the door. my chest burning. i wonder if that was my heart breaking.